


Goodnight Mister Derek

by deekee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: England - Freeform, Goodnight Mister Tom AU, M/M, No underage, Slow Burn, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2018-10-24 23:56:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10752423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deekee/pseuds/deekee
Summary: In 1939 Britain is on the brink of the Second World War.Young Mieczyslaw Stilinksi is evacuated to a small country village where he is placed with Derek Hale, a distant man who has kept to himself ever since he lost his family as a child and his sister died in childbirth some years before.A sad and withdrawn child, Mieczyslaw is at first frightened of the blunt and withdrawn man, but gradually becomes accustomed to his gruff manner and begins to thrive under the surprisingly gentle and nurturing care of "Mister Derek". As a special bond of friendship grows between them, he gains self confidence, makes new friends and discovers hidden talents, while Derek slowly allows himself to be drawn back into community life.Then, quite suddenly, their happiness is shattered when Stiles receives a summons from his mother to return immediately to Blitz-torn London...





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea that I've had in my mind for several years now and I've finally sat down to write it. 
> 
> Goodnight Mister Tom has always been my favourite book, ever since I was a child, and it has a special place in my heart. You DO NOT NEED TO HAVE READ THIS BOOK to read this story, and I would recommend against doing so until the end, as it will obviously spoil the plot as I will be sticking to William and Tom's journey. 
> 
> As the tag suggests, there is an eventual Stiles/Derek pairing but it is SLOW. This will not happen until the end and when Stiles is of age. There will be NO underage in this story. The feelings that develop through this are of friendship and it is not until near the end that they even think of romance. 
> 
> NOTE:
> 
> I chose not to archive warnings as I prefer the notion of not revealing key plot points in stories, much like in a normal novel. 
> 
> However, bear in mind that, as I did not make any tags, there may be some dark points and things that may make you uncomfortable. But please do not leave any hate in the comments as I did not make any less of a warning than any novel (or, in fact) the original novel did.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! xx

A sharp knock at the door startled him from his reading. With a sigh of irritation, he stood up and stomped over to the front door. He tore it open and glared at the women before him.

She was a tired and harassed-looked middle-aged woman. She had an armband on her sleeve.

“What do you want?” Derek asked bluntly. 

She gave him an awkward smile. “Hello sir, I’m the Billeting Officer for this area.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

She flushed, “Well, Mr... Mr…”

“Hale. Derek Hale.”

“Ah, thank you, Mr Hale.” She took a deep breath and started into what was obviously a rehearsed speech. “Mr Hale, with the declaration of war imminent…”

Derek shook his head. “I know all of that. Get to the point. What do you want?” 

“It’s him I’ve come about,” she said, stepping aside to reveal a small boy near hidden behind her. “I’m on my way to the village hall with the others.”

“What others?” Derek asked, a headache forming in his temple.

She gestured behind her, drawing his attention to a small cluster of children hovering beyond his front gate. Many of them were filthy and in ratty or unfit clothing. Very few had a coat or jacket. They all looked confused and exhausted. One tiny girl was clutching desperately to a new teddy bear.

The woman touched the boy at her side and pushed him firmly forward. 

Derek sighed, “There’s no need to tell me. It’s obligatory and it’s for the war effort.”

The woman flushed again. “You are entitled to choose your child, I know,” she said apologetically. 

Derek snorted.

“But,” she continued, “his mother was quite adamant that he be with someone religious or at the very least close to a church. She would only allow him to be evacuated if he was.”

Derek took a closer look at the child. The boy was thin and sickly-looking, pale with limp dark hair and dull eyes. He didn’t seem very present in the moment.

“He’s called Missy,” said the woman.

'Missy', who had been gazing at the ground, twitched slightly and looked up. Hanging from his neck, Derek noticed, was a cardboard label reading “Mieczyslaw Stilinksi”. 

Derek Hale was a tall and strong looking man in his early twenties. Seemingly healthy and muscular with a thick head of dark hair. Although really only slightly taller than average, in Mieczyslaw’s eyes he was a towering giant with skin like coarse brown paper and a voice like thunder.

He glared at Mieczyslaw. “You’d best come in then,” he said abruptly.

The woman smiled in obvious relief. “Thank you so much,” she gushed before backing away quickly and hurrying down the path towards the other children. Mieczyslaw watched her go silently. 

“Come in,” Derek said again harshly. “I haven’t got all day.”

Nervously, Mieczyslaw followed him into a dark hallway. It took him a few moments to adjust to the darkness after coming in from the bright garden.

Derek sighed deeply. “I suppose you’d best know where to put your things,” he muttered. He looked up at the high coat rack beside the door and then back down at the small boy. He scratched his beard. “It’s a bit high for you. I’d best put in a low peg.”

He opened a door on his left and went into the front room of the house, leaving Mieczyslaw alone in the dark hallway still clutching desperately onto his brown carrier bag. Through the half-open door, the boy could see a large cooking range with a fire in it and an old armchair beside it. He shivered. 

Derek came back out with a pencil in hand. “Put that bag down,” he ordered gruffly. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

Mieczyslaw did as he was told and stared blankly up at him as Derek handed him the pencil.

“Go on,” said Derek. “I told you before that I haven’t got all day. Make a mark on the wall so that I know where to put in a peg for your coat.” Mieczyslaw blinked before turning to the wall and drawing a faint dot on the wall beside the hem of one of Derek’s large coats. “Make it nice and big so’s I can see it clear.” The boy drew a small circle around the dot and filled it in. Derek leaned down and peered at it. “Neat little chap, aren’t you? Give me your coat and I’ll pop it on top of mine for now.”

With shaking fingers, Mieczyslaw undid his buttons, peeling off the mackintosh and held it up for Derek, who hung it atop of his own coat. The man then walked towards the front room again. “Come on,” he called. Mieczyslaw followed him in.

It was a small comfortable room with two windows. The front one looked out over a graveyard and the other to a little garden along the side of the house. The large black range stood in an alcove in the back wall. Beneath the side window were a few shelves filled with books, old newspapers and odds and ends and by the front window stood a heavy wooden table and two chairs. The floor was covered in a faded warm rug. Mieczyslaw glanced at the armchair by the range and saw a pipe and a book on the small wooden table beside it. 

“Pull that stool over to the fire and I’ll give you something to eat.” The boy didn’t move. “Go on, sit down, boy,” he repeated. “You got wax in your ears?”

Mieczyslaw grabbed a wooden stool from the corner of the room and sat down in front of the fire. He felt more frightened and lonely by the second.

Derek cooked up two rashers of bacon and placed a thick slice of bread, with the fresh bacon dripping beside it, onto a plate. He put it on the table along with a fresh mug of tea. The boy watched him silently, his bony limbs poking out at awkward angles from beneath his thin jumper and shorts. He tugged nervously at the tops of his woollen socks. 

“Eat up,” Derek grunted, gesturing at the table. 

Mieczyslaw reluctantly dragged himself away from the warming fire and over to the wooden table. He sat down and politely took a sip of the hot tea. He bit into the bread but a large lump in the back of his throat make swallowing difficult. He really didn’t feel at all hungry but remembered what his mother had told him about manners and doing what he was told. He stared out the window and over the graveyard. The sun was shining but he felt cold. 

“Aren’t you hungry?” Derek’s voice jolted him from his thoughts. 

Mieczyslaw looked over at the man in his armchair, startled. “Yes, mister,” he whispered.

Derek raised an eyebrow; this was the first time the boy had spoken. “Just a slow chewer, then?”

Mieczyslaw nodded timidly and stared miserably at the plate of food in front of him. Bacon was a luxury and here he was wasting it. Derek watched him.

“Maybe you can chew it more easily later.” Derek beckoned him back over to the stool. “Put a spoon of sugar into that tea and bring it over here.”

Mieczyslaw did so and returned over to the fire. He grasped the hot tea tightly between his cold hands and shivered again. Derek leaned over to him once the boy was sat on the stool. 

“What have you got in that bag of yours, then?” he asked.

Mieczyslaw shrugged. “I dunno,” he mumbled. “Mum packed it. She said that I wasn’t to look in.” One of his socks had slid down slightly, revealing a large colourful bruise on his shin and a swollen red sore beside it. 

“That’s a nasty looking thing,” Derek said, pointing to it. “What gave you that?” Mieczyslaw paled even further and hastened to pull his sock back up. 

Derek waited another moment. “Best drink that tea of yours before it gets cold,” he said, sensing that the subject needed to be changed. Mieczyslaw stared intently at the flames in the range as he drank the tea. It burned in his throat as he sipped it silently. Derek stood and left the room briefly, but returned within just a few minutes. 

“I’ve got to go out for a bit and then I’ll fix up your room. It’s up there,” he pointed towards the ceiling, “You aren’t afraid of heights, are you?” The boy shook his head. “Good, else you’d have been left to sleep under the table.” He bent over to shovel some more coke onto the fire.

He moved to the hallway before returning again and tossed something at the boy. “Here’s an old scarf of mine.” As the boy caught it, he noticed another bruise on his thigh, but said nothing. “Have a wander around the graveyard. Don’t be scared of the dead – at least they cant drop a bomb on your head.”

“No, mister,” agreed Mieczyslaw politely. 

The boy heard the front door slam as Derek left and listened to the footsteps fade away. He hugged his arms around his chest and began rocking back and forwards on the stool, mumbling to himself. “I must be good,” he whispered desperately. “I must be good.” He rubbed a sore spot on his arm. He was such a bad boy, he knew that. Mum said that she was kinder to him than most mothers would be. She only gave him soft beatings. He shuddered, dreading the moment when Mr Hale would realise how truly wicked he was. He was much stronger looking than his mum was. 

He stood up and began looking around the room curiously. He moved towards the shelves beneath the window, looking at the books there. He winced. There he was being bad again, putting his nose in where it didn’t belong. He stood up straight and darted his head around to make sure that Mr Hale hadn’t seen him through the window. He felt like something was missing though. 

His mum had said that war was a punishment from God for people’s sins, so he’d better watch out. She hadn’t told him what to watch out for though. It could be in this room, he wondered, or in the graveyard. He knelt up on one of the chairs by the window so that he could peer out over the graveyard. He was surprised that the graves didn’t seem as scary as he’d imagined, even though he knew that he was surrounded by dead bodies. He couldn’t figure out what was missing. A bird sang from the trees and he realised. Of course, that was it. He couldn’t hear any traffic, any banging or shouting. 

He glanced around the front room again, his gaze falling on the scarf still laying on the stool and decided that he’d go outside. He picked it up and wrapped it around his neck. It was soft and warm. He stepped out to the hall and opened the front door and then carefully closed it behind him. 

Between him and the graveyard sat a small garden, along the edge of which were small clusters of flowers. He stopped for a moment, hands in his pockets, and just stood there. 

The graveyard and cottage were surrounded by a small stone wall, except for where the back of the church stood. The was a path broken up by wildflowers and moss that split off into two directions; one leading toward the large gate where the other children had waited and the other towards the back entrance of the church. Several trees stood here but a large oak tree grabbed his attention; it grew by the exit of the church, standing in the centre of the graveyard with well-clad branches curving and hanging over the path. 

Mieczyslaw glanced down at a small stone angel near his feet and began to walk around the other gravestones. Each grave had a certain character of its own; some were well tended with a little vase of flowers perched atop of it, others were covered with a stone slab surrounded by well cut grass, while others were so faded that he could barely see the shape of the letters and had weeds growing over them. As he wandered, he noticed that some of the very old ones were tiny; children’s graves, he figured. 

He was sitting on Elizabeth Thatcher when he suddenly heard voices. A saw a young man and woman walking by the graveyard, laughing and talking. He was hoping that they’d continue on and not see him, but they did. They stopped and the young woman leaned over the wall. She had long dark hair that hung in a single plait and a pink-cheeked face. She was very pretty, he thought. 

“You’re from London, aren’t you?” she asked. 

He stood up and politely took his hands out of his pockets. “Yes, miss,” he said quietly. 

“You’re a regular wild bunch, so I’ve heard,” she joked, smiling.

Mieczyslaw didn’t know how to reply to that. He looked at the young man. He was in uniform and stood with his arm around her shoulder. 

“How old are you then?” she asked.

“Eight, miss.”

“Polite little lad, aren’t you?” she kept smiling. “What’s your name?”

“Mieczyslaw Stilinksi, miss.”

She laughed lightly. “That’ll be a tough one, but I do like a challenge! And you can stop calling me miss. I’m a Mrs, Mrs Whittemore.” The young man beside her beamed proudly. “I’ll see you Monday at school then. I expect that you’ll be in my class. Goodbye, Mr Stilinski.”

“Bye, miss, Mrs,” he whispered. 

He watched them walk away and, once they were out of view, he sat down again on Elizabeth Thatcher and began playing with the grass. He’d forgotten all about school. 

He thought about Mr Harris, his form master in London. He’d spent all day yelling and shouting and everyone and rapping his knuckles. He dreaded school most days. But Mrs Whittemore didn’t seem like that at all. He sighed in faint relief. That was one ordeal that he honestly didn’t think that he’d be able to face. 

He looked around the graveyard again, spotting the large oak tree. It looked sheltered, safe. He stood and began to make his way over to it, but tripped suddenly. He looked down and saw a tiny gravestone, hidden beneath weeds and dirt. It looked forgotten and lost. He dropped to his knees and began pulling away at the weeds. He wanted to make it visible again. It wasn’t fair that it should be hidden. He was totally immersed in his task when he suddenly heard a scratching sound. He looked up and around the graveyard. 

A loud barking suddenly disturbed the peace. Mieczyslaw sprang to his feet, standing totally still and hardly breathing. A small black-and-white collie ran around the tree and into the leaves. It stopped in front of him and leapt into the air. Mieczyslaw was petrified.

“Them poisonous dogs,” he heard his mothers voice in his head. “One bite from them muts and you’re dead. They got horrible diseases in them.” He saw the tiny children’s graves in the corner of his eye and quickly picked up a thick tree branch from the ground.

“Go away,” he croaked, feebly, gripping the branch firmly in both hands. “You go away.”

The dog jumped into the air again, barking and yapping at him, tossing leaves around his legs. Mieczyslaw shrieked and backed away, but the dog came ever closer.

“Go away. I’ll kill you!”

“I wouldn’t do that,” said a deep voice from behind him. Mieczyslaw spun around to find Derek standing behind him. “He’s not going to hurt you, so I’d drop that stick if I were you.”

Mieczyslaw froze, branch still in hand. Sweat broke out under his armpits and across his forehead. Now he was in for it. He was bound for a beating now. Derek cam towards him and took the branch from his hands, lifting it up into the air. Mieczyslaw quickly lifted his arms across his face, crying out. But the blow never came. He looked under his arm and saw that Derek had merely thrown the branch across the graveyard and the dog had gone running after it. 

Derek stared at him for a moment as the boy watched the dog.

“You can settle down now, boy,” he said quietly. “I think you and I had best head inside and sort a few things out. Come on,” and with that he stepped aside, gesturing for Mieczyslaw to go ahead of him into the house.

Mieczyslaw stepped towards the cottage on shaking legs , his head lowered. He saw the path through blurring eyes and sweat dripped down his face and chest. His armpits stung and a sharp pain stabbed in his stomach. He walked through the front door and stopped in the hallway, feeling his sweat turn cold. Derek stepped ahead of him and waited in the door to the front room. 

“Don’t dither,” he said. “Come in.”

Mieczyslaw did as he was told but his body no longer felt his own. It seemed to be moving all on its own. Derek’s voice seemed more distant. He sat on the stool feeling numb, sounds echoing as though he were in a cave. 

Derek moved toward the range and picked up a poker. Mieczyslaw knew that this was it. He was going to get it now, and he clutched the edges of his stool. Derek looked down at him.

“About Sammy,” he heard him say. He saw him poke the fire and heard no more. He knew that there were words being said to him but he couldn’t take his eyes off of the poker. It sent hot coke tumbling in all directions. He saw Derek’s strong hand lift it out of the fire. The tip was red, almost white in places. He knew that he was going to be branded with it. The room seemed to swim and he heard voices echoing. He watched the tip of the poker spin and come closer to him and then the floor came closer to him and it went dark. He felt two large hands grip him from behind and push his head between his knees until the carpet came into focus and he heard himself gasping. 

Derek opened the front window and lifted him out through it.

“Breathe in,” Mieczyslaw heard him say. “Take in a good breath.”

He took in a gulp of air. “I’ll be sick,” he gasped.

“That’s alright, go on, I’m holding you. Take in a deep breath. Let your throat open.”

Mieczyslaw drank in some more air and a wave of nausea swept through him and he vomited.

“Go on,” he heard, “breathe in some more,” and he was sick again and again until there was nothing left inside of him and he hung limply in Derek’s arms.

Derek wiped his mouth and face with the scarf. The pain in his stomach had gone but now he felt drained and limp like a rag doll. Derek lifted him back into the cottage and placed him in the armchair, his small body sinking comfortable into its expanse and his feet barely reaching the edge of the seat. Derek tucked a blanket around him and drew a chair up beside the fire, watching the boy fall to sleep.

The many tales he’d heard about evacuees just didn’t seem to fit Mieczyslaw. ‘Ungrateful’ and ‘wild’ were the most common adjectives or often just plain ‘homesick’. He couldn’t be less prepared for this timid, sickly little thing. He glanced at the poker leaning against the range.

“He never thought… no… surely not!” he muttered. “Oh Derek Hale, what have you gotten yourself into?” 

He heard a scratching at the door and mumbled, “more trouble!”. He silently made his way towards the door and opened it. Sammy leapt into the cottage, jumping around his legs, panting and yelping. 

“Now you shut your damn mouth, you!” he whispered firmly. He knelt down and allowed Sammy to jump into his arms, licking away at his face. “I never need to have a bath with you around, eh?” He let Sammy continue licking at him until he finally settled down and Derek picked him up and carried him into the front room. As soon as Sammy saw Mieczyslaw sleeping in the armchair he began barking again. Derek put a finger firmly on his nose and looked directly into the dogs eyes. 

“Now you just take a rest and stop that.” He picked up his pipe and sat by the range again, Sammy flopped down beside him and resting his head against his feet.

“Well, Sam,” Derek whispered, “I don’t know nothing about children, but I do know enough not to beat them and make em so scared they have a panic attack at the thought.” Sammy looked up at him for a moment before flopping back down. “I don’t know,” he rubbed his beard anxiously, “I haven’t exactly had much experience at this mothering lark.” He grunted and puffed at his pipe. Sammy stood up and wriggled between his knees to place his paws on his stomach.

“You understand every bloody word I say, don’t you? At least the kid isn’t going to bury bones in my sweet peas,” he joked, rubbing behind Sammy’s ear. “I guess that’s one thing to be thankful for in all this.” He sighed. “I guess I’d better see what’s what.” He stood up and wandered into the hallway, Sammy trailing after him. “Now you stay here,” he ordered sternly, leaving Sammy sitting obediently on his haunches, although Derek knew that it wouldn’t last for very long. 

He grabbed some steps that were leaning against the wall beside the coats and set them up under a small trap door above him. He climbed up, pushing open the small trap-door and pulled down a long wooden ladder, fixing it firmly with two strong clips at the opening. 

The ladder itself was of thick pine wood. It was little over two years old, but since his sister Laura had died shortly after it was made, it had hardly been used. He moved the steps to allow room for the ladder to reach the hall floor. A thick cloud of dust surrounded his head as he blew on one of the rungs. He coughed and sneezed. 

“Suppose we’d best keep that ole ladder down for a bit, eh Sammy?”

He climbed down again and opened the door across from the front room, leading into his own bedroom. Inside, a small chest of drawers stood by the corner window. Against the back wall was a large bed covered in a thick quilt. At the end of the bed, on the floor, was a round basket with an old blanket inside. Supposedly, it was Sammy’s bed and, as such, was hardly ever used. A blue carpet was spread across the floor.

Beside the bed was a fitted cupboard with several shelves. One the top two shelves, neatly stacked, were blankets and sheets. On the third were various belongings of Laura’s that he’d decided to keep. He glanced through them. A black wooden paint box, brushes, a christening robe that she had embroidered, some old photographs, letters and recipes. The christening robe had never been worn for he had died shortly after his mother. 

Derek picked up some blankets and sheets and carried them into the hall. “I’ll be down for you in a minute, Sammy,” he promised as he climbed up the ladder. “You just hang in there for a bit,” and with that Sammy was left to watch his master slowly disappear through the strange new hole in the ceiling.


	2. Beacon Hills

Mieczyslaw woke with a start, looking around rapidly only to find himself sitting in the large armchair with a blanket covering him. Derek was sitting across from him, reading a book and sipping from a cup of tea. Sammy had been sitting at his feet but, upon seeing the boy wake up, he moved to his feet.

Derek looked up at Sammy’s movement and raised an eyebrow. “You feeling better? You certainly look it.” He poured a cup of hot tea and added some sugar before handing it to the boy. “Drink that.”

Mieczyslaw took the tea and stared nervously at the dog sniffing at his toes. 

“He won’t hurt you,” Derek said, standing from his seat. “He’s a big softy, really, soft as butter and with a heart to match, aren’t you boy?” He knelt down and ruffled his fur. Sammy wiggled in between his legs and licked at Derek’s face, making Mieczyslaw giggle. “See?” Derek said, “He’s very friendly.”

“So,” he said, standing up again. “What am I to call you then? I can’t for the life of me figure out that name that was on your coat, but I believe the woman who brought you here called you Missy?”

Mieczyslaw couldn’t help the grimace that marred his face, which Derek thought on for a moment.

“How’s about you tell me what people in London call ye?” he ventured.

The boy took a moment before replying quietly, “My name is hard for people to say so most people call me Missy…” After a long pause he continued, even more softly, “My dad used to call me Mischief…”

Derek waited, but when the boy said nothing more he decided to let the matter be for now. “You want to learn something that’ll make Sammy happy?” The boy nodded. “Hold your hand out, palm up,” he held his calloused hand out and waited for the boy to copy him. “This is so he knows you’re not going to harm him, see. Now, hold it out and tickle his chest.” Mieczyslaw stretched out his shaking hand slowly to touch Sammy. “That’s it, just keep doing that.”

Mieczyslaw stroked his fingers through Sammy’s fur. It was silky and soft. Sammy gave his fingers a long lick.

“He likes you, see?” Derek said. “Licking is his way of saying ‘I like you and you make me happy’.” Mieczyslaw kept his hand out stiffly for Sammy to slather with his tongue.

After a few moments of licking, Sammy ducked under the blanket to nose at his legs. “Why does he sniff stuff?” he asked.

“He likes to know what everything smells like so he knows who to say hello to or not.”

“Stop it!” Mieczyslaw cried as Sammy shoved his nose into his crotch. “Naughty dog!” Derek quickly grabbed Sammy and dragged him out from under the blanket. The dog immediately started barking and bouncing around excitedly. 

“Sammy,” Derek cautioned, “you’re getting overexcited. I think you need a good run in the fields.” He glanced at the pale boy swamped by the armchair he was perched in. ‘You look like you could do with one too,’ he thought.

Mieczyslaw pushed the blanket away and slipped out of the chair.

“Smells like rain,” Derek commented, leaning out the window. “You got any gumboots?”

“No, mister.”

“Well, you’d best put on your mackintosh, at any rate.”

The three of them trooped out into the hallway but Mieczyslaw was stopped at the sight of the ladder. Derek looked back at him and said, “That leads up to your room. Well, attic, really.”

“Mine?” He was confused. Did Mister Hale mean that he was actually going to have a room of his own? All to himself? Derek nodded and handed him his mackintosh from atop his own coat. Sammy was bouncing around their feet excitedly.

“Hold yer horses, Sammy. We’re going.”

Derek looked over the boy’s mac and took note of how thin it was.

They walked down the pathway and past the gate, Sammy leading, Derek striding along after him and Mieczyslaw half-running to keep up. It was mid afternoon now, with the sun hanging low in the sky and a gentle breeze brushing leaves around them, dark clouds gathering. Sammy was running back and forth, barking his excitement for the world to hear.

“He’s half-mad that one.” Derek commented to Mieczyslaw, looking to his side only to find himself talking to thin air. He turned to find the boy several yards behind him, running to keep up and gasping for breath.

“You’re too quiet by half. Why didn’t you tell me I was going too fast for ye?” But the boy couldn’t answer, gasping incoherently. 

Derek slowed down for him to catch up. As they walked side-by-side, Mieczyslaw couldn’t help staring up at the gruff man beside him. It was all just so bewildering. Why was he being so nice to him? As he stared, Mieczyslaw took in his heavy brown ankle boots, thick navy overcoat and the green corduroy cap on his head, with dark tufts of hair peeking out from beneath it. A small empty haversack dangled over his shoulder and an idea struck him.

“Mister,” he said. “Mister!” Derek looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. “Can I carry your bag, Mister?”

Derek stared at the boy for a moment before grumbling incoherently, but passed him the bag nonetheless. Mieczyslaw clung it in both hands as they continued walking, pleased with himself for helping the man in return. 

Eventually they reached the top of the hill and Mieczyslaw saw a row of thatched cottages along the side of the road. A plump middle-aged woman with greying hair was peering at them out of one of the windows. She disappeared for a moment only to come wandering out the front door staring at them curiously. 

“Hello, Derek,” she said, watching Mieczyslaw who tried to duck himself behind the grumpy man.

Derek grunted, “Evening, Mrs Boyd. How are the boys?”

“Boys are doing nicely.”

He turned to Mieczyslaw. “Go keep an eye on Sam. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Mieczyslaw nodded shyly, avoiding looking up, and followed after Sam who was sniffing at a flower box by the cottage. 

“Skinny little thing, isn’t he?” Mrs Boyd commented. 

Derek grunted again.

“I hardly believed it when I heard, you know.” she continued. “I haven’t got room myself, what with the boys, but Mrs Butcher got two to deal with. Girls, mind you, but still. They’re regular tearaways and Mrs Henley got three last week and they keep running away. Homesick, like,” she sighed and rubbed at her chest.

Derek nodded absently. “How’s the knitting?” he asked, changing the subject.

“What on earth are you on about?” she blinked, leaning back and peering at him. “Since when have you ever been interested in my knitting?”

“Since now,” he replied shortly. He shoved his hands into his pockets and rolled a stone around with his boot, looking over her shoulder. “Busy, are you?”

“No more than usual.” she said carefully.

“I could do with a thick jersey. Not for me, mind.” He looked over at the boy, cautiously petting Sammy.

“You don’t have to clothe them, you know. They should have brought that all with them.”

“Well he hasn’t any.” Derek said gruffly. “Now can you knit me a jersey or not?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“And,” he sighed, “you wouldn’t happen to know where I could get some boots – small ones – and I don’t want any commentary on the subject, I just want to know.”

“I’ll ask around.”

Derek breathed out and mumbled a thank you before continuing up the road towards the boy.

Mrs Boyd stayed where she was, watching the pair of them walk on until she was certain that they were out of earshot. 

“Madge,” she cried out, running next door into the next cottage. “Madge! You’ll never believe what just happened!”

The road leading past the row of cottages went on into open countryside with several lanes leading off of it. A small shop stood in the cottage right at the corner, which was where Derek lead Mieczyslaw and Sammy.

He stopped just outside and turned to the boy, taking the haversack from him. “I won’t be long,” he said, leaving the boy and dog sitting on the front steps. While Derek was in the shop, Mieczyslaw just stared in amazement at all of the fields before him. He was so lost in them that he barely noticed Derek coming back out. Sammy sniffed at the food in the bag, but Derek just pushed him off and swung the bag over his shoulder again.

“Now,” he warned, looking down at the boy, “if I start going too fast again, you let me know.”

It was a long, quiet road that they walked down, the silence broken only by the whirring of tractors in the distance. They turned right and walked down a tiny lane. Small birds and variations of cottages, which Derek occasionally explained to him, kept distracting Mieczyslaw as they walked.

They carried on down the lane towards a farm, and Sammy bounded off ahead of them. When they finally reached the long wooden gate, the dog was already waiting for them, tail pounding on the ground. Derek led the boy around the back of a large stone house and towards a wooden shed. A middle-aged man was sitting on a small stool, milking one of a handful of cows. Mieczyslaw gazed at the gentle way the man fingered the udders and the spray of milk that came out into the bucket underneath.  
“Mister,” he whispered, tugging at Derek’s sleeve. “Mister, what’s that?”

Derek stared at the boy, astounded. “Haven’t you ever seen a cow before?” but the boy didn’t answer, too absorbed in the milking. 

Derek shrugged to himself, turning back to the man. “I’ll be wanting some more milk from now on, Henry,” he said. 

Henry nodded, looking at Mieczyslaw. “One of them London lot?” he asked and Derek just grunted. “You’d best take a jug with you then. Evelyn’s inside.”

Derek made his way to the back of the house, leaving Mieczyslaw behind to watch the milking, having to carry Sammy in his arms as the dog had a nasty habit of yapping at the cows.

A smiling woman in her thirties wearing a flowery apron opened the door. “Come on in,” she said. “You’ll be wanting extra milk.”

“How’d you know?” Derek squinted.

“Malia saw you coming up the yard with him.”

A chubby six-year-old with dark blonde hair with dirt smudged on her cheeks stood just behind her, clutching her skirt. 

“Don’t be daft, girl,” Evelyn said. “Go on, say hello to the boy. I’ve got things to do.”

She plonked down the steps in her ankle boots and blue woollen dress to stand by Mieczyslaw, smiling shyly at him, twisting the hem of her dress in her hands until her knickers cam into view.

“There isn’t much difference in size between the two of them,” Derek frowned, watching the pair of them together. “I haven’t a clue what they do to young ones in that city.” He watched them for a moment longer before disappearing into the warm kitchen.

 

After calling the boy several times and getting no response, Derek finally just tapped him on the shoulder.

“Here, dreamer, you can carry that for me,” he said, handing the boy a tin jug. “You can have a look in it, if you want.”

Mieczyslaw lifted the lid and peering inside. Fresh milk. Malia just stared at him; she’d never seen a boy so thin and pale. She still hadn’t spoken to him and had only just heard his name, or so she thought.

“Bye, dreema,” she burst out before turning and running into the house. Mieczyslaw just blinked in confusion.

“Where’s that stupid thing run off to this time?” Derek muttered, looking around for Sammy. He finally caught sight of his black and white fur sitting next to the gate with a bone in his mouth.

Mieczyslaw looked back at the house and saw the woman called Evelyn putting some black material up over the front window.

“What’s she doing?” he asked.

“Putting up her blackouts, boy. We all have to do it from tonight.”

Mieczyslaw was desperately curious, but didn’t ask why; he know it was rude to ask too many questions. 

“It’s so that planes don’t know where to bomb,” Derek continued, reading the question clear as day on the boys face. “Total waste of time, if you ask me. It’ll probably all be over by Christmas. And besides, who’d want to bomb Beacon Hills?” He looked up at the sky, noticing that it’d suddenly become darker. “We’d best get moving,” he said and they swung the gate open and set off up the tiny lane at a quick pace. They had just made it past the cottages and were halfway down the hill when the first drops of rain fell and had just reached the bottom when the skies opened and a torrent of rain hit them. It blinded Mieczyslaw and dripped into his collar under his mackintosh. Derek buttoned up his overcoat to his neck and pulled his collar up, looking down at the drenched figures of the boy and dog. Mieczyslaw was practically running to keep up with them, his shoes heavily caked with clods of mud and his jersey soaked through from his mackintosh. 

The sky rumbled around them and the rain kept pouring as they made it to the graveyard. Derek swung open the gate for Sammy and Mieczyslaw to run through. Sammy bounded and barked through the puddles as Derek shut the gate and Mieczyslaw ran up the path to the cottage. They ran into the hall, shoes clattering on the tiles. Derek shook the rain from his overcoat and cap then started undoing his boots while Sammy happily shook the water from his fur and watched the torrential rain whip through the graveyard. Mieczyslaw struggled to undo his mackintosh, his fingers purple with the cold. 

“You’re soaked to the bone,” said Derek. He pointed at his muddied shoes. “Take them off and stay here while I put some newspaper down.”

Mieczyslaw took off his now heavy shoes and shivered helplessly in the dark hallway, teeth rattling. After hearing much shuffling from inside the living room, Derek finally opened the door to reveal that he’d laid newspaper down in front of the range and had put blackouts in front of the windows so that, beyond the embers from the range, it was near total darkness in the room. He lit a gas lamp hanging from the ceiling and an oil lamp on the table. 

“Stay on the newspapers,” he said. He then turned to Sammy, who was still panting and wagging his tail around, sending droplets of water all around him, “You too.” Derek then added some coke to the fire and left the room.

Mieczyslaw hopped from one foot to the other in front of the range, steam beginning to rise from his jersey and shorts. He heard the front door close and Derek reappeared with his brown paper bag in hand. He placed it on the table and took out the contents.

There was one small towel, a piece of soap, a toothbrush, an old Bible and a, envelope with “To whom it may concern” written on it. Derek looked under the towel for some nightclothes, but there were none so he opened the envelope.

Mieczyslaw heard the paper being torn and turned to watch him cautiously. He knew that the letter was from his mum. He checked that his wet socks were still pulled up and stood very still.

‘Dear sir or madam,’ it read, ‘I asked if Mieczyslaw could go and stay with God-fearing people so I hope he is. Like most boys he’s full of sin but he’s promised to be good. I can’t visit him. I’m a widow and I haven’t got the money. The war and that. I’ve put the belt in for when he’s bad and sewn him in for winter. I usually keep him in when it’s cold and I got them special for the cold weather so he should be all right. Tell him his mum said he’d better be good. Mrs Stilinski.’

Derek folded the letter and put it in his pocket. He found the belt at the bottom of the bag; it was a brown leather one with a steel buckle. He put it carefully back into the bag and pulled out the towel, soap and toothbrush. Mieczyslaw stood with his back to the fire and stared at him uneasily. 

Derek was angry.

“While you’re in my house,” he gritted out, “you’ll live by my rules. I have never hit a child and if I do, it’ll be by the skin of my own hand. Understand?”

Mieczyslaw nodded.

“So we can forget that ole belt,” he said, lifting the bag and turning to take it out of the room. Mieczyslaw turned back to face the fire. He hunched over, shoulders tense, and the range hissed as a tear fell onto it. He heard the door close behind him and hurriedly wiped his cheeks.

Tom put a small bundle onto the armchair and kneeled down beside him. “We’d best get you out of those wet things and I’ll have them dry for tomorrow.”

Mieczyslaw sniffed and Derek helped him peel off his wet jersey and shorts. 

“And those socks,” he said as the boy clung to the top of them. He peeled them off and Derek said nothing. There was no need. Mieczyslaw’s arms and legs were covered with bruises, weals and sores. Derek reached to pull off his vest and the boy flinched and touched the top of his arm.

“New one, eh?” he asked quietly.

Mieczyslaw nodded and blushed.

“We’d best be careful then,” and tugged gently at the vest.

“It won’t come off, mister,” Mieczyslaw whispered, and then Derek suddenly understood what the boy’s mother had written in the letter. His vest had been sewn to the waist of his undershorts. 

“We’ll soon settle that,” he said, standing and moving to collect a pair of scissors from the bookshelf, but Mieczyslaw shrunk back.

“Don’t worry, I’ll sew them back when you go home. I promise.” The boy still didn’t move. “I promise.”

He finally stepped forward and let him cut away the stitching. He dried Mieczyslaw’s thin, bruised body, wrapped him up tightly in a towel and placed him in the armchair. Taking an old flannel nightshirt from the bundle he’d brought in earlier, he cut the body and sleeves in half. He stood Mieczyslaw up on the chair, took away the towel and pulled the nightshirt over the boy and cut away at the hems until his hands and toes were visible. He also handed him a pair of woollen socks, the heels of which almost reached the back of his knees. Mieczyslaw gave him a small, tense smile and watched Derek hang his clothes over a horse near the fire. 

“You can dry Sammy with that towel,” he said, gesturing at one lying in the armchair. Mieczyslaw knelt on the newspapers and began to dry the dog off and Sammy stuck his nose in the air, delighted with the attention. 

Derek began to unpack his haversack, putting the various groceries away on shelves and into small cupboards. He cracked some eggs into a pan with milk and butter. He sliced some pieces of bread and stuck one onto a large fork and turned to Mieczyslaw. 

“You ever toasted bread before?” he asked and the boy looked up at him and shook his head. “Have a go, then.” He handed him the fork.

Mieczyslaw sat on a small stool in front of the fire, his long socks already trailing along the floor. Derek also placed a small bowl of scraps and biscuits beside him for Sammy, who’d already started chewing at the end of one of the socks. 

Mieczyslaw placed the toast on plates while Derek scooped some scrambled eggs on them. He also placed a large bowls of steaming, buttered, boiled potatoes in the centre of the table. 

“You can sit down now,” Derek said, seeing the boy hovering.

Mieczyslaw picked up a potato with his hands, then dropped it onto his plate, gasping at the heat. He then feverishly attacked the meal, pointy elbows sticking out at the sides at his cut and ate his food in a frenzy. When the meal was finished, Derek opened a brown paper package to reveal four pieces of ginger cake.

“One for today and one for tomorrow,” he said, handing the boy a piece.

Mieczyslaw had never eaten cake before and savoured the taste. When he was finally done, he leaned back in his chair with his hands on his stomach and watched Sammy making strange noises into his food, tail wagging. 

Derek got up and started heating some water on the range for the dishes. He waved a hand over to the shelf by the window and said, “You can have a look through those books if you’d like.”

Mieczyslaw jumped up and headed towards the shelf excitedly but stopped and frowned. “I have to read my Bible…” he said miserably. 

Derek grunted. “I’ll tell you a Bible story myself. In my own way. That good enough for you?”

“Yeah. Thanks, mister,” he smiled softly.

“Pull out that pouffe there to sit on.”

“Pouffe?” he asked.

Derek pointed at a small cushiony type of seat next to the armchair. Mieczyslaw went over to the shelf and picked out three books, then pulled out the pouffe and sat down on it, the books balanced carefully on his knees.

“Aren’t you going to open them?” Derek asked.

“After my Bible.”

Derek dropped into the armchair and lit up his pipe. He puffed on it as he thought over which story he should tell. “Noah’s Ark,” he decided. “That’s a good one.” He looked over the books that the boy had chosen, then stood up and wandered over to the bookshelf and selected some that had animal pictures in them and sat down again.

“Once, long ago,” he began and Mieczyslaw leaned forward to listen on the pouffe before finally getting up and leaning on the armchair to get a good look at the pictures. Derek mumbled on through the story, secretly flattered at the intense attention he was being paid. The gas lamp hissed above them and the flames flickered in the range. Even the rain mellowed out while they sat there. 

When Derek was finished, he looked up and was embarrassed at the admiration shining on the boys face. He coughed a little and glanced at the clock. 

He made the boy some cocoa and left him to look through the books with Sammy while he went upstairs to put up some blackouts. Mieczyslaw sat back down on the pouffe and gently traced a finger over the pictures of the animals. He blew on the cocoa and gave some of the skin on top to Sammy, feeling rather important for doing so. Finally, Derek reappeared at the door with a lamp and Sammy bounced over to crawl between his legs.

“Figured you were being too good to last,” Derek said as Sammy tugged at his trouser leg. “Give me the cocoa, boy, and you carry the book.”

Mieczyslaw tried climbing the ladder gracefully, but the oversized socks kept making him slip. Eventually, through much juggling, all three made it up into the attic, books and cocoa intact. 

It was a tiny room, shaped much like a ridged tent, with the ceiling sloped on both sides and a straight wall in between. The wooden floor was covered with two rugs and there was a small bed under one eave and blackouts covering the window above it. Derek had swept the room clean and had hung and lit a lamp from a hook on the ceiling. 

Derek gestured at a small table beside the bed. “For your books and such,” he explained. He also pointed out a china chamber-pot at the end of the bed, “So that you don’t have to go outside if you need go to the toilet.”

The heat from the living room rose up through the floor boards so the room was still quite warm, despite how bare it was. Mieczyslaw crawled under the bed and curled into a ball, to Derek’s amazement.

“What are you doing?” he said, baffled. “You get into it, not under it!”

“What, right inside?” exclaimed Mieczyslaw.

Derek pulled the sheets back and the boy climbed into them, stroking the blanket softly. Sammy was shuffling beside him impatiently, wagging his tail frantically. “Oh go on, you daft dog,” he rolled his eyes and Sammy leapt onto the bed, between the boy’s legs and began licking his face. Slowly Mieczyslaw put his arms around the dog before giving a small cry and bursting into tears. 

“I’m sorry, mister,” he choked out, burying his face into the dogs fur. 

Derek gently sat down on the edge of the bed until his crying had lessened a little. “Here,” he said, offering the boy a handkerchief. “Have a good blow on that.”

Mieczyslaw looked up at him shamefacedly, with wide red eyes. “I’m not being ungrateful, mister, honest! I’m happy,” he sobbed again.

Derek nodded and Sammy licked some of the tears from his face.

“Alright,” he said, standing up again, “you can have the lamp lit for ten minutes. But mind you behave yourself, Sammy,” he patted the dog. 

He made his way back downstairs to the living room and turned the boy’s clothes around. He picked his pipe up from the table and tapped the old tobacco into the range. 

“Best not to get fond of the boy, Derek,” he muttered to himself as he sat down in the armchair. He glanced at Mieczyslaw’s thin grey clothes, figuring that another pair of socks and a balaclava wouldn’t go amiss. He sank deep into a reverie of jerseys and boots that was only interrupted by sounds of scrabbling from upstairs. 

He climbed back up the ladder, mumbling as he went and blew the lamp out, plunging the room into total darkness. “I’m taking the blacks down now,” he said, removing them from the window. “You warm enough?”

Mieczyslaw lifted his head up. “Yeah,” he said softly, sinking happily back into the sheets. Derek stared out the window for a few moments longer before nodding then moved to the bed and gently ruffled the boy’s hair, picked up Sammy and started making his way down the ladder. 

He was halfway down before he remembered and stopped. “Don’t forget your prayers, now.”

“No, mister,” Mieczyslaw replied.

He paused. “You’d best call me Derek. Goodnight and God bless.” With that he descended from view and closed the trap door behind him.

“Goodnight Mister Derek,” Mieczyslaw whispered. He listened to the door downstairs close and crawled out of the bed to look out the window. A dark cloud floated across the moon and the sky thundered, followed shortly after by a crack of lightening that lit up the whole sky. 

“Not much use, these blackouts,” Derek had said earlier, but it was just fine, Mieczyslaw thought, standing in the moonlight. He could just make out the two rows of cottages and the fields behind them, a dog howling in the distance. 

Underneath the attic, Derek was sat back in his armchair, Sammy collapsed on his feet. He held a large wooden paint-box on his lap. He raised the lid, gazed for a long moment at the contents and blew a layer of dust from the brightly coloured pots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope that you're enjoying this so far! Things are a bit chaotic in Real Life at the moment so I'm not sure about a regular posting schedule, but I hope to update at least every week. 
> 
> Anyway, I wanted to say that we'll be calling him Stiles soon enough, he just needs to make a special friend first ;)
> 
> Also, he may seem a little out of character for a long while (subdued and such) but that's because of the circumstances he was in before leaving London and will brighten into the sarcastic little shit we all know and love eventually. 
> 
> Again, I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think down below xx


	3. Saturday Morning

Mieczyslaw woke up to pain and darkness. He cold faintly make out a small pile of boxes in the far corner of the attic and a picture frame leaning against them. He looked up to see the sloping ceiling above him and instinctively reached up to touch it, only to be abruptly reminded of why he woke up as a searing pain soared through his body, scrambling his stomach. He pushed a hand down his body, fingers meeting a soaked nightgown.

It was only then that he realised that he was lying between sheets. That’s what they did to people after they died; they laid them out in a bed. 

He sat up quickly and smacked his head off of the ceiling. He felt dizzy and hurt. He rolled out of the bed, doubled over with pain, and crawled over to the window. He cried – he was in a graveyard! He was going to be buried alive! 

The pain grew ever stronger. He rolled over and vomited on the floor. 

* * *

In the morning Derek found him huddled in a ball underneath the bed and the sheets drenched in urine. He stripped the sheets and carried the boy downstairs. 

Mieczyslaw stood in front of the range, staring out the window. It was a hot day so the windows were open, but no breeze came into the house. He stared at his dull grey clothes and undergarments hanging on a washing line outside. 

Derek came over to him and gently pulled the dirty nightgown over his head and threw it into the copper tub with his soiled sheets. He tenderly washed his body with cold water and soap, skirting around his weals and carefully not eyeing his protruding ribs. 

“I’m sorry, mister,” the boy kept whispering. “I’m so sorry, Mister Derek.”

Derek just grunted in his usual manner. 

He went outside to collect the grey clothes and handed them to the boy as he re-entered the house. “It’s too hot for socks today,” he muttered. “Don’t bother with them.”

Mieczyslaw’s eyes widened. “I can’t go without my socks,” he cried, alarmed. “I can’t, mister!”

“And why not?” Derek raised an eyebrow.

“My legs,” the boy whispered. He didn’t want anyone to see the marks of his sins. He couldn’t. 

Derek just sighed and tossed the thin grey socks on the table. The two had breakfast by the open window. Derek sat back with his sleeves rolled up and beads of sweat trickling down his tanned face while Mieczyslaw continued to shiver, huddled in on himself as he sipped his tea and nibbled at his bread.

“Blimmin’ blue,” Derek muttered to himself, carefully observing the boy before him. He cleared up the remains of breakfast and left the small addressed postcard for the boy’s mother that had been provided to write a message to her. Mieczyslaw sat in front of it, dejectedly watching as Derek heaved his mattress outside and began scrubbing it clean. He lowered his head in shame; anyone who walked by the church would see it and know how wicked he had been. He honestly hadn’t meant to do it. He didn’t even remember doing it. 

He turned and stared instead at the postcard in front of him, but it just made him feel even worse. He gripped the pencil in his hand stupidly and dug his fingers into the table, trying desperately not to cry. 

“How are you getting on?” Derek asked, leaning in through the window.

Mieczyslaw jumped in shock and flushed. “Can’t think of what to say, is that it?” Derek said. He took the pencil from the boy’s hand and turned the postcard to face him. “They certainly don’t give you much room, huh?”

Mieczyslaw tugged at his hair, embarrassed. 

“Lost your voice?”

“No, Mister Derek,” he replied quietly. 

“Well, what do you want to say, then?”

The boy shrugged and stared dumbly at the wooden table. 

Derek sighed. “Are you happy here?”

Mieczyslaw looked up quickly ad nodded.

“Arrived safely, is happy and…”

“Mister, Mister Derek,” the boy cut in. “Are you going to tell her I was bad?”

“No,” he said shortly. “Here, how’s this? Mrs Stilinski, Mischief…”

“No!” the boy cried suddenly. “Only my dad called me that, my mum only calls me by my full name.”

Derek looked at him intently for a moment. “Alright then. How do you spell that, anyway?” The boy flushed and looked away awkwardly. “Eh, it’ll probably be quicker to copy it from that tag of yours anyway.” He walked over to the shelf and picked up the tag the boy had been wearing the day before and sat back down at the table. 

He quickly altered the word and continued writing. “Mieczyslaw has arrived safely and is happy and good. Yours sincerely, Mr Derek Hale. There.” He handed the postcard and the pencil back to the boy. “Now write your name.” 

Mieczyslaw paled. “I can’t, mister.”

“Didn’t they have school in London?”

“Yeah, but…” he trailed off.

“How about reading?” Derek raised an eyebrow. “You can read, can’t you?”

“No.”

Derek blinked, surprised. “But you were reading those books last night.”

“I was looking at the pictures.” Mieczyslaw admitted quietly. 

Derek scratched at his beard, perplexed. The kids in the village were reading at least a little by age six. This boy was eight or so. He glanced again at the tag to make sure. Mieczyslaw Stilinksi. Born September 7th 1930.

“Nine on Thursday.” he remarked. “Your birthday’s in five days.” Mieczyslaw didn’t understand what was so special about that. “You’re nine on Thursday,” Derek repeated but the boy couldn’t think of anything to say to that. 

“Anyway,” Derek just sighed, continuing. “About school; didn’t your teacher help you?”

“Yeah, but…” Mieczyslaw paused, hesitating. “He didn’t really like me. The others all called me Sillie Sissie Missy.”

“What others?”

“At school.”

“What bout your friends?”

The boy mumbled something that Derek couldn’t quite catch. “I can’t hear you, boy.”

Mieczyslaw coughed. “I haven’t got any friends.”

Derek could only sigh again and signed off the postcard. He looked up and noticed the boy glancing over at the black box on the stool.

“This bloody heat,” he grumbled, wiping at the sweat on his forehead with a handkerchief. “Grab that box for me, boy.”

Mieczyslaw got the box and just stared at it. “Open it then, boy. Go on.”

The boy slowly opened the box and looked over the brightly coloured pots with awe. “Paints?” he breathed.

“Yeah,” Derek grunted. “They’re a bit old, but I’m sure they’ll do. You paint?” 

Mieczyslaw’s face fell. He’d always longed to paint. “No, I can’t read…”

Derek eyed him. “The ones that can read and write get to paint, then?”

“Yeah,” Mieczyslaw stroked the pots ever so softly. “I’ve done some drawing on my own, though, with bits of chalk and crayon.”

Derek held in his sigh this time and straightened up. “Well we’d best post your card. Wouldn’t want to worry your mum. Climb on through.” He helped the small boy through the window and patted him down once he was standing in the garden. “Where’s that dumb dog?” He looked around before calling out for Sammy. 

“Mister Derek,” the boy said, pointing. “He’s under the tree.” 

“So he is.” Derek whistled and the dog heaved himself up from his spot under the oak tree and rambled over to them.

The three walked around the back of the cottage and past the outhouse. On its roof lay Mieczyslaw’s mattress, drying in the sun. Upon seeing it, Mieczyslaw ducked his head and flushed in shame. 

“Don’t worry about it boy,” said Derek. “It’ll be dry by tonight.”

They carried on to the end of the garden and passed through a neat wooden gate. They turned left down a small lane and shortly thereafter came across another gate that led into another field beside the graveyard. Mieczyslaw froze when he spotted a large carthorse lazily eating something in the grass. 

“Come on, then,” Derek huffed impatiently. 

Sammy ran on ahead excitedly and barked happily at the mare. She lifted her head, looked at the dog for a moment before turning her attention back to the grass. 

As the man and boy walked closer to the horse, Mieczyslaw hung back and clung nervously to Derek’s trouser leg. “She won’t hurt you,” Derek said. “You just stick by me. She won’t hurt you.” Derek said, pushing the boy ahead of him as he shut the gate. 

Mieczyslaw eyed the horse cautiously and simply trembled when Derek told him yet again that the horse wouldn’t hurt him, so he dropped it. 

The boy sighed in obvious relief when they finally reached the gate at the other end of the field and darted through it the moment Derek had it open. 

“Sam,” Derek called the dog over from where he’d flopped over beside Cora, the horse. After Sammy and bounded through the gate, he waved Mieczyslaw over to him. “Let’s see you latch it now,” he pointed at the gate. “You must always remember to shut every gate behind you. Mieczyslaw quickly slammed the gate closed. “Now bolt it.” The boy did so. “Good, well done.” 

Mieczyslaw froze. He’d never been praised by anyone before. 

Derek didn’t notice the boy’s amazement and headed on down the lane and, after a moment, the boy rushed after him. They walked by another massive gate and a neatly-kept garden. A middle-aged man was knelt down, carefully weeding a patch of flowers. Sammy had, once again, already bounded on ahead of them and was lazing by an old wooden gate, waiting for them. 

Derek rolled his eyes; the dog always seemed to know exactly where he was going. 

Derek pushed at the gate and, after a brief struggle, it swung open, rusted hinges creaking loudly. The overgrown hedges tangled up tightly around it. Mieczyslaw carefully closed the gate behind them, internally proud at remembering to do so. 

The two walked up through the wild and unkempt garden, grass nearly reaching Mieczyslaw’s knees. At the front door, Derek knocked but no one answered. The sound of a wireless echoed so he knew that someone was home. After ringing the knocker several more times, he sighed and simply walked around the side of the cottage, the boy on his heels. 

Leaning back in a wicker chair in the back garden sat Doctor Alan Deaton, a tranquil, enigmatic man who was attempting vainly to wipe the steam from his spectacles. His wife, Melissa, a tall woman with dark curled hair was huffing as she dug a large trench in the garden. The wireless was blaring out organ music through an open window. 

“Doctor Deaton!” Derek called out impatiently. The doctor calmly put on his spectacles and smiled at them. 

“Hello, Derek. This is certainly a surprise. You can’t possibly be ill.”

“No,” replied Derek shortly. 

He glanced down briefly at Mieczyslaw who was, once again, trying to hide behind Derek, frightened now upon hearing the strange man called ‘Doctor’. Melissa, noticing how scared the boy was, put down her shovel and sat down on the edge of the trench. 

“I’m Mrs Deaton,” she said, smiling. “I’m sure you’d like a nice orange juice with Mr Hale and the Doctor have a chat, hm?” The boy nodded gingerly and followed her into the kitchen of the cottage. 

Derek sat down by the doctor. 

“So what seems to be the problem?” the doctor asked. “The boy, is it?”

Derek sighed, feeling like that’s all he’d been doing the last day. “He’s been sick twice already. Had a good meal last night, but vomited it all up.”

“Malnutrition,” the doctor remarked. “He’s probably used to chips. All that good food might have been too much for his stomach. Clear broth, exercise, rest and milk to begin with and maybe a tonic. Try some Virol and Cod Liver Oil. I imagine he’s been bed-wetting too,” he added. 

Derek looked up at him, surprised.

“It’s quite common,” the doctor assured him. “Especially if they’re small. Just give him a month or two to settle in. How old is he? Five, six?”

“Eight, almost nine.”

It was the doctor’s turn to look surprised. 

“He’s like a frightened rabbit, he is.” Derek shook his head. 

“Yes,” the doctor said, thoughtfully. “He’s obviously been brought up to see the doctor as the bogeyman. 

“There’s something else,” Derek said, slowly. “The boy’s had a bit of a beating. He’s bruised all over, covered in sores. Seems to have been done with a belt buckle, mostly. He’s too ashamed to let others see. I’d appreciate it if you could have a look.”

“This,” came a refined voice from behind them, “and warm salt water.” It was Mrs Deaton; she was standing behind them with a tray of cold drinks. She handed Derek a bottle of witch-hazel. 

“We exchanged battle scars,” she explained. “I noticed his before we went inside. I’ve given him a couple of garters for his socks.” She shook her head. “You’d think I’d given him the moon.”

“The children in Beacon Hills have been quite spoilt, it would seem,” commented Dr Deaton. “I was up at the Preserve treating some ingrown toenails last night. There are two large families up there, nineteen children altogether. Melissa and the maid had to de-louse half of them. Bag of bones, aren’t they dear?” Melissa nodded.

“Thanks for your advice,” Derek said, standing up. “I won’t keep you any longer.”

Mrs Deaton let out a loud laugh. “I’m the one doing all the work!” she exclaimed.

“Well I am supposed to be semi-retired!” protested the doctor, smiling. “Anyway, it’s too damned hot to be digging.”

Melissa rolled her eyes and shrugged helplessly at Derek. 

“Is it for an air-raid shelter?” Derek asked. 

“Yes. And when those bombs start falling he’ll be the first one inside it.” Melissa joked. 

“If there are any, I shall remain in bed,” Alan retorted. “I might as well die in comfort. Don’t you agree, Derek?”

Derek had scoffed at the notion of building an air-raid shelter up until now, them being in the country, started thinking. He did have extra responsibilities now, what with the boy…

“There’s the boy to think of,” he said simply. He raised the witch-hazel. “How much do I owe you?”

“On the house,” Melissa smiled. 

Derek called Mieczyslaw and Sam over and, after another brief battle with the gate, they continued up to the end of the lane and on to the road. The sun was shining brightly above them and Mieczyslaw was sweating profusely. When Derek touched the boy’s cheek he found it cold. They passed a small redbrick building with a playground beside it and backed by a field.

“That’s your school,” Derek pointed out. 

Mieczyslaw glanced at the row of plants under the windowsills. The school was quite unlike the dark grey building he had gone to back in London. 

The road they walked along brought them to the centre of the two rows of thatched houses from the day before. Mrs Boyd and a neighbour were standing outside one with a large sunflower in front of it. It was one of the few cottages with a wireless. A small crowd was gathered in and around the garden, listening to it. 

“You go and post your card,” Derek said. “The Post Office is right near the shop. I’ll meet you there in a bit.” He left the boy and made his way over to the crowd with Sammy on his heels. 

Mieczyslaw walked slowly and nervously past the cottages. All the windows were open to let a breeze in. 

“Morning, Mr Stilinski,” called two voices behind him. An elderly couple were smiling at him as they leaned over their gate. “We know your name from Mrs Boyd,” said the old man. He wore a crisp white collarless shirt with the sleeves rolled up and his baggy grey trousers were being held up with a piece of string. His wife was in a flowery cotton dress with a lilac apron over it. Their skin was wrinkled and brown from the sun and they wore steel air-raid helmets on their heads. Both were carrying gas mask boxes over their shoulders. 

“Looking for the Post Office, dear?” asked the old lady. “You’re standing right in front of it.”

“You go on in, boy. It’ll be alright,” the old man smiled encouragingly. 

“We hope you’ll be very happy here,” added the old lady. “Don’t we, Walter?”

“Yes,” he agreed. “We do.”

“We’re the Greenbergs,” she said. 

“You go on in,” he said. “Go on.”

Mieczyslaw knocked softly at the door.

“Go on in, dear,” they chorused. 

Mieczyslaw opened the door and stepped inside, relieved. He found himself in a quite room, at the end of which was a small counter. To his right were stacked stationary and pens, jigsaws, wool, needles, scissors and assorted items. To his left were countless sweets and fizzy drinks. 

Standing next to the counter was a young boy. He was leaning on a window sill, writing intently. A young man was sitting behind the counter talking to him. 

“They’ll never be able to read that,” he was saying. 

“Of course they will,” the boy replied. 

Mieczyslaw edged closer to see what was going on. The boy was holding a magnifying glass over a postcard and was writing in the tiniest hand that he’d ever seen. 

“Father’s got one of these too,” the boy said, waving his magnifying glass.

It was the boy’s face that caught Mieczyslaw’s attention more than anything, although his body was nothing to ignore. He was taller than him and he guessed that the boy was eight or nine years old. His body was wiry and tanned and he had a thick head of dark hair that looked to be in bad need of a cut. All he wore was a pair of red corduroy shorts held up by a pair of braces and a pair of battered leather sandals. Apart from these his back and legs were completely bare. 

But it was the boy’s expressive face that gripped Mieczyslaw’s attention. He looked so open and carefree, with a big dimpled smile adorning his face despite not seeming to have said or heard anything particularly funny. 

“Can I help you son?” asked the postmaster, jolting Mieczyslaw from his thoughts. 

He blushed and quietly slid his postcard to the man across the counter. The man glanced down at it. 

“Staying with Mr Hale then, are you? You’ll have to watch your P’s and Q’s with him.”

Did everyone know he couldn’t read? He blushed, ashamed, and looked over at the strange boy again. He was bent over so close to the card that his nose was practically touching it. He smacked his lips and, with a final flourish, e drew a line at the bottom, screwed on the top of his fountain pen and hooked it onto the buckle of his braces. 

“Have you a blotter, sir?”

The postmaster slid one over to him and asked wryly, “Anything else?”

The boy frowned thoughtfully for a moment. “No, I don’t think so, thank you.” He carefully blotted the card and then lid them both over the counter. “When will it arrive, do you think?”

“Tuesday, maybe.”

The boy cried, “That’s ages away!”

“Well, you should have sent it sooner, then,” retorted the postmaster.

The boy glanced at Mieczyslaw beside him. His white teeth and bright eyes stood out sharply against his tanned skin. He smiled, taking in Mieczyslaw’s dull grey shorts and jersey. Mieczyslaw turned away quickly and hurried out of the Post Office, his ears flushed red. Derek was standing outside the shop, waiting for him. 

“There you are,” he grumbled. “You coming in or not?” The boy nodded and walked over to him, passing three women who were chatting outside.

They walked into the shop together and he took in the boxes, bags and coloured sacks that were piled along one side of the shop. On the left was a long wooden counter that had a set of weighing scales on one end and a large basket full of bread on the other. Crates of fruit and vegetables were stacked beside it. Above the crates and sacks were shelves with assorted cutlery and coloured tins on them. 

Mieczyslaw tried to see if he could spot the strange boy through the window. 

“Thanks, Mrs Reyes,” said Derek to a middle-aged couple behind the counter. “I’ll drop that baccy for you tonight, Mr Reyes. Tea, sugar, torch batteries and elastic, you reckon?”

“Sure as eggs are eggs,” said the man. The man noticed Mieczyslaw hovering by the sacks of flour and frowned. “Hey, what are doing?” he cried angrily. 

“Don’t be so harsh,” said his wife. 

“If you’re soft with this London lot, they’ll take you for all you’ve got. I had chocolate, cigarettes, fruit and all sorts stolen when that last batch came in!”

Mieczyslaw blushed and inched away from the sacks.

“The boy’s with me,” Derek near growled. 

“Oh,” the man stammered, surprised. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr Hale. That’s different then.”

“Come meet Mr and Mrs Reyes,” Derek motioned the boy over. 

“Pleased to meet you, dear,” said Mrs Reyes who was so well endowed that her dress strained slightly at the front and Mieczyslaw blush and averted his eyes, embarrassed. Taking hold of his hand with her own soft one, she gently shook it. 

Mr Reyes, a short stocky man leaned across the counter to do the same. As Mieczyslaw and Derek were taking their leave, Mrs Reyes softly walked over to them, polishing an apple with her apron. 

“Here you are, my dear,” she said, holding the apple out to the boy. “This is for you.” Mieczyslaw just stared at it, dumbfounded. 

“Go on,” Derek grunted. “Take it, boy, and say thank you to Mrs Reyes.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, taking the apple gingerly. 

They left the shop and made their way back to along the road, Sammy plodding miserably along behind them.

“Mr Hale! Mr Hale!” 

A short and wild looking man was running towards them. He was wearing an A.R.P uniform. 

“That’s Bobby Finstock,” Derek muttered to the boy. “He thinks he’s going to win the war all on his own.” The man came up to them, puffin desperately. 

“Where are your gas-masks, then? You’ll be in trouble if you don’t carry one! Don’t you know that war’s going to be declared any second!” He gestured at Mieczyslaw. “He should have one too!”

“Alright, alright,” Derek sighed and continued walking up the road with Bobby still shouting after them. 

“You’ll wake up one of these mornings and find yourselves gassed to death!” he cried. 

“Alright!” Derek shouted back exasperatedly. “I said I’ll get one!”

They walked back passed the cottage with the sunflower. People were still standing outside it, talking intensely. Mieczyslaw watched them, puzzled; why did they seem so anxious?

“Come on, boy,” called Derek sharply. “Hurry up! We’ve got to go into town.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that you're enjoying this! Let me know what you think! xx


	4. Equipped

Derek and Mieczyslaw sat in the front of the cart that Cora steadily pulled past fields and cottages, snorting at the occasional bee or butterfly. They’d left Sammy snoozing away at home amd Mieczyslaw almost wished he could’ve done the same as he kept catching his eyes sliding shut. His hands were gripping the wooden seat of the cart as they jolted over the bumpy road.

 

He gave a sudden cry as he suddenly found himself almost having fallen asleep and the ground seemed a very far distance away. Derek started at the boy’s sudden cry and, noticing how tired he seemed, squeezed on the reins, bring Cora and the cart to a halt.

 

“Here,” he said to the boy, “you get in the back and have a nap. I can’t have you falling just because you’re too tired to stay upright.” He helped Mieczyslaw up into the back of the cart and tossed him an old blanket that had certainly seen better days. The boy was still so pale that he almost certainly needed even that ratty old thing to cover himself with.

 

As soon as the cart started moving again, it’s rhythmic bouncing lulled Mieczyslaw into an uneasy sleep. His thin joints kept hitting the sides of the cart, waking him suddenly and then lulling him into yet another disjointed dream. He was just about to be attacked by a horde of anxious faces when he felt himself being gently shaken.

 

“We’re almost there, boy,” Derek’s gruff voice called, “Time to get up.”

 

Mieczyslaw shakily pulled himself up onto his knees and clung desperately to the side of the cart, looking around. They were passing by a river that was shaded by some overhanging trees. It curved around before disappeared behind some buildings that he didn’t recognize.

 

Derek turned to him, “Remember any of this?”

 

“No.”

 

They finally stopped at a blacksmith’s and Derek hopped off of the cart and went around to help Mieczyslaw down as well. He then untied Cora and led her into a dark shed while the boy hovered in the road. He heard Derek talking to someone inside but he came back outside soon enough and proceeded to remove his haversack, bags and boxes from the cart. He placed a heavy hand on Mieczyslaw’s shoulder.

 

“We’ve got a lot to do, boy. Think you can keep up?”

 

Mieczyslaw nodded and Derek handed him one of the two small buff-coloured boxes. They both slung them over their shoulders and set off down the road. The boy noticed a bicycle shop and a cobblers before they turned onto the main street that curved around a large square.

 

Derek gestured at the square, “On market days, this is full of all sort of stalls and traders.”

 

Mieczyslaw nodded in acknowledgement and stared at the square. There was a stone archway in the centre of it, housing a large clock and with several benches all around the archway.

 

The pair stopped in front of a newsagent’s shop and Derek read the two placards that were leaning up against it. ‘Poland Invaded!’ read one, and the other said ‘Turn your wireless low. Remember, someone might be on duty.’ The door of the shop was already propped wide open so they walked straight in.

 

A tiny old lady was standing behind the counter. She turned to them and remarked, “Hot today, isn’t it? Your usual, is it, Mr Hale?”

 

Derek nodded, stiffly. The lady turned and started reaching for a yellow tin of tobacco on one of the shelves. Mieczyslaw looked around the small shop and a pile of comics caught his eye.

 

Derek noticed him eyeing the comics and sighed. “One sweet and one comic,” he said sharply, startling the boy. “Choose.”

 

Mieczyslaw stared at him, stunned. The old lady noticed and smiled at him. “Don’t you hurry, sonny,” she said kindly. “You take your time.” She pointed at the vast display of jars, “We’ve got boiled ones, fruit drops, farthin’ chews, mint humbugs, there’s lollies of course – they’re popular – there’s strawberry, lemon, lime and orange.”

 

Derek was annoyed at the long silence that followed the woman’s spiel and was just about to say something when he caught sight of the Mieczyslaw’s face. It looked to be a mix of awe and terror.

 

Mieczyslaw swallowed hard. He’d never been asked to choose anything. Ever.

 

He stared up at the shelves of jars and sweets. Finally, “A lolly, please, miss,” he whispered.

 

“What flavor?”

 

He frowned and panicked briefly before rapidly deciding “Strawberry, please.”

 

The old lady opened up one of the jars, pulled out a lolly and handed it to him. It was covered in a black and white striped wrapper which was twisted shut like a unicorn’s horn.

 

“Now what comic would you like dear?” the old lady asked.

 

Mieczyslaw wanted to cry. What use would a comic be to him if he couldn’t even read it? He wouldn’t be able to understand any of the words. But, oh did he love the colours, and the pictures looked so exciting. He looked up at Derek, desperation clear in his eyes.

 

“I can’t read, Mr Derek,” he whispered.

 

“I know that,” Derek replied gruffly, “but I can, after your Bible.”

 

Mieczyslaw turned back to look at the comics so quickly that he missed the look of surprise that spread across the man’s face. The words had just leapt from Derek’s mouth before he even had a chance to process them. He was both astonished at himself and irritated that his rigid daily routine was going to be ruined after two careful years.

 

The boy finally chose a comic to go with his sweet and Derek paid for them quickly. As they left the shop, Mieczyslaw clutched the comic to his chest with shaking hands. His first comic.

 

“Get moving, boy,” Derek barked ahead at him. “Are you deaf? Come on!” Mieczyslaw jumped and followed him next door into a chemist’s shop and then to a grocery shop.

 

They were stopped outside Lyons’ tea shop which had a selection of cakes in the window when Mieczyslaw noticed a couple at a table near by. A man in uniform was sitting there with a young girl who was crying. He stared at the shadow the young man was casting across her face.

 

“Later, perhaps,” Derek said, thinking that the boy was staring at the cakes in the shop window.

 

He led the boy across the square and past the railway station where Mieczyslaw suddenly started tugging on his sleeve. He raised an eyebrow at the boy, but he didn’t notice excitedly pointing at the station.

 

“Mister Derek!” he cried. “Mister Derek, I know this place! I remember it! That’s where I was yesterday!”

 

Derek smiled at the boys enthusiasm and turned to look at the station as well. There were two distinct groups there, both decidedly different from each other. One was a group of young soldiers, standing outside the station and chatting amongst themselves excitedly with their bulging kit-bags leaning against their legs. The other group was comprised of young children, accompanied by a young woman and the same billeting officer who had brought Mieczyslaw to him. They appeared to be heading towards the town hall. They were an odd group of children; some in new coats and shoes with bright rosy cheeks, whilst other with thin and wearing clothes that were well-worn and either too big or small.

 

Two things that they all had in common were the labels hanging around their necks and the shocked and dazed manner that they all shuffled forth with, holding hands.

 

Derek sighed softly before turning away at last. “Come on then,” he said, patting the boy on the shoulder. “I’ve got a list a mile long for the drapers.”

 

The drapers shop was just across the road from where they stood and next to it was a toy shop. Derek looked between the shiny toys in the window and the boy beside him. “D’you want to have a look at the toys while I’m in there?” he asked.

 

Mieczyslaw shook his head quickly. He really didn’t want to be left on his own.

 

“As you please,” Derek said with another raised eyebrow. He led the boy into the shop.

 

The shop was filled with roll after roll of materials of all kinds, it seemed. There was only a narrow space to walk through from the door to the counter, which Derek and Mieczyslaw had to squeeze to get through. A smartly dressed, middle-aged man with a carefully curled moustache was stood behind the counter, cutting a piece of dark cloth.

 

“Good morning, Mr Hale,” he greeted Derek cheerfully. “Blacks all right, are they?”

 

Derek grunted in affirmation.

 

The sound of light organ music came from a large wireless at the end of the counter.

 

“For the latest news,” the draper explained when he saw Derek eying it. “I must say, all this waiting is getting on my nerves, rather. That Chamberlain’s so slow. We’re ready for Hitler. I says, let’s just get on with it and stop this shilly-shallying.”

 

“I’ve been hearing that blessed organ music on and off all blimmin’ day,” Derek grumbled. “Can’t he play anything else?”

 

“That’s Sandy Macpherson,” said the draper. “Wonderful man. Holding the BBC together in this national time of stress, Mr Hale.”

 

“You sure he isn’t causing it?” Derek snarked.

 

“Oh, Mr Hale,” gasped the draper, eyes wide. “I’m sure you don’t mean…” He trailed off as he finally caught sight of Mieczyslaw’s dull, dark hair on the other side of the counter.

 

“He’s with me,” Derek said quickly, hoping to avoid another scene like in the other shop. “I brought a list from Mrs Boyd for materials.” He pulled a list from his pocket and slid it across the counter. “The boy’s only got what he’s standing in.”

 

The draper beamed. “A pleasure, Mr Hale. I’ll have to measure him myself, unfortunately. I’m a bit short-staffed at the moment.” He flicked the long measuring tape from around his neck and eyed Mieczyslaw.

 

“There’s not a lot of him, is there?” he sighed disappointedly.

 

Mieczyslaw stretched to peek across the counter and watched the draper measure and cut two rolls of grey and navy flannel. He spotted a roll of corduroy at the other end of the counter as well, which he reached out to touch. It was soft and firm and he let his fingers drift gently over the odd ridges.

 

Derek caught sight of him admiring the fabric and called to the draper: “Might as well bring out a few colours of that corduroy too.”

 

The other man looked up at him, surprised. “Really? Oh, well, if you say so, Mr Hale.”

 

“Two colours you can have, boy. Take your pick.” He said, as Mieczyslaw looked at him in awe.

 

The draper laid out rolls of green, brown, rust, navy, grey and red. Mieczyslaw panicked for a moment at the variety before catching his eyes on Derek’s own green trousers. He pointed at the green roll and, after another pause, to the navy.

 

“Good,” muttered Derek, happy that the boy was beginning to think for himself.

 

Mieczyslaw smiled nervously and leaned back against the counter to look at all the other materials around him. He felt lost in the crimsons and ambers, turquoises and sea greens, materials of every shade and texture.

 

Derek leaned down suddenly and Mieczyslaw found himself being fitted for braces.

 

“I’ll have these,” Derek said as he stood up again, placing them on the counter.

 

Mieczyslaw continued to gaze at the fabrics. He loved the reds but Mum said that red was a sinful colour.

 

“I’ve to go to the bank,” he heard Mr Derek say, “so I’ll leave you a deposit.”

 

“No hurry, Mr Hale. I’ll be here all day.”

 

The draper chatted away about rising prices, Hitler and the price of butter while Derek occasionally grunted in acknowledgement.

 

“Called up this morning,” Mieczyslaw heard him say, “so if you know anyone who’d be looking for a job let me know. I’ll even take a you girl if she’s bright…”

 

He finally wrapped the material in sheets of brown paper. Mieczyslaw longed to touch it but it was put under the counter and he had to quickly follow Derek back through the dark tunnel of materials and out into the daylight.

 

Derek led him straight next door and into a shoe shop. It was packed with people buying up stout shoes, so after a wait in the queue, Derek at last managed to be served.

 

“Boots,” he said, pointing to the boys feet.

 

Mieczyslaw was sat in a chair as his feet were placed into a measuring gauge.

 

“Leather’s a bit stiff at first,” said Derek as the boy stood up again in a solid pair of brown ankle-boots. “But we’ll get some linseed oil to soften them up.”

 

A huge lump began to burn in Mieczyslaw’s chest and slowly rise up into his throat. “Are they for me?” he croaked.

 

“Well they aren’t for me.” Derek scoffed.

 

The assistant put the boots in a paper bag and Derek handed them to him.

 

Derek guided the boy, still staring in awe at the bag in his arms, outside and across the square to another group of shops. Two men were building a warden’s post with sandbags by a shop selling corsets and combinations. A large poster was hung above them advertising A.R.P. outfits. Derek stopped at the corner outside one of the shops and looked across at the Fire Station, where it stood beside the Town Hall. A queue of men were standing outside of it, soberly reporting for duty.

 

A bead of sweat trickled down Derek’s neck. He mopped at it with a handkerchief. The heat was stifling.

 

He felt a now-familiar tug at his trousers. “What is it?” he barked.

 

The boy was pointing towards a tiny shop down the small road that they had just crossed. The boy had probably spotted it while Derek was standing there, staring at the Fire Station. The front of the shop was unpainted varnished wood with faded gold lettering above it. In the front window was a display of paint-brushes which were arranged in a fan shape and scattered tubes, coloured pots and boxes lay beneath.

 

Derek’s heart sank.

 

He hadn’t been in there since the day after Laura had died. It had been her favourite place in the world after the fire. For the last two years he hadn’t been able to bring himself to set foot in the shop. Not that there’d be any reason for him to; he didn’t paint. But he still remembered how pleased she would be at the mere thought of a visit.

 

“Paint has the most lovely smell, doesn’t it?” she’d say, “and a lovely feel,” and he would laugh at her bizarre thoughts.

 

“What, boy?” Derek asked softly. “You want to take a look?”

 

Mieczyslaw nodded fiercely.

 

“Only in the window, mind. I haven’t got time to dally inside.” He grunted, heart pounding in his chest.

 

The boy gazed at the shop dreamily as he crossed the road. A car beeped and shouted at him but he took no mind.

 

Mieczyslaw peered in the window and wiped away the mist his breath was making on the glass. There were boxes of coloured crayons and wax, lead penicls and paints in colours he’d scarcely known existed. Large empty pads of paper just waiting to be filled in. He stared lovingly at the paint-brushes; there were thin and elegant ones for the most delicate of lines ranging out to thick ones you could grip hard and slosh around in bold, creamy-coloured strokes.

 

Derek stood behind him and stared over his head into the shop. He remembered how Laura used to spin around with delight in there. Her long dark hair, which was always tied back in a knot at the base of her neck, bolding displaying her burns, would constantly slip out and breeze around her face whenever she was suddenly excited. She could look at a row of colours for hours and never be bored.

 

“If I painted the sky,” she’d told him once, “I could go through life painting nothing else, for it’s always changing. It never stays still.”

 

He looked down at the boy and blinked when he saw him making shapes with his finger on the misted window.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Drawing,” the boy replied. “It’s one of them brushes.”

 

Derek peered at it and scoffed, “Is it, now?”

 

He turned abruptly away from the shop and Mieczyslaw reluctantly followed him up the lane and back onto the main street. They passed the corset shop, a butcher’s and a hardware shop before stopping outside a library.

 

“You’d be join,” said Derek, “if you’re going to be staying, that is.”

 

They opened the door and entered a deep and encompassing silence. Someone coughed out of sight. Mieczyslaw tugged at Derek’s leg.

 

“What?” he snapped, irritated.

 

“Mister Derek,” the boy hissed quietly, “why is it so quiet?”

 

Derek sighed, exasperated. “So that people can hear themselves read.”

 

They walked up to a large wooden table covered end-to-end with books. A tall, thin woman sat behind it, her long legs stretching out from under it. She had dark hair that hung loose around her shoulders. She looked up at them and smiled.

 

“I’ve come to join him up,” Derek said, gesturing at the boy beside him. “He’s with me.”

 

Miss Jennifer Blake gazed at Mieczyslaw, stared at Derek and then took another look at the small boy beside him.

 

“With you?” she asked, astonished. “With you!” she cried again. “But you’re…” She was about to say, a bad-tempered, cold …. But she stopped herself.

 

“I’m what?” Derek frowned.

 

“You’re… so busy.”

 

Too busy, she thought privately. He never helped or joined in any of the village activities and had ignored any and all the signs that a war was approaching. She leaned over the table for a closer look at them and gasped. They were both carrying their gas masks! She blinked and looked again but there was no mistaking the buff-coloured boxes hanging over their shoulders. Mr Hale, of all people, was carrying a gas-mask!

 

“We haven’t got all day!” Derek snapped, drawing her attention back up to his eyes. “I’ll leave the boy here. I’ve got shopping to do.”

 

The boy paled, a fact which Derek caught out of the corner of his eye and made him groan internally. How had he allowed himself to be landed with such a sickly and dependent boy was beyond him. But Mieczyslaw was sick with excitement in that moment, not fear. Even though he couldn’t read, the thought of books thrilled him. All the knowledge and stories within them!

 

“How many is he allowed to have?”

 

“Three,” Miss Blake answered promptly.

 

“Let him choose two with pictures and…” he paused for a moment. He’d never liked asking anyone favours.

 

“Yes?”

 

He sighed again. “Choose one that you think would be suitable for me to read to him. He hasn’t learnt yet, you know. And I’ve forgotten what you ones like, see.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “One has to do one’s duty, don’t one?”

 

She blinked. “Oh, yes, of course, Mr Hale,” she replied hastily.

 

He turned to leave before catching himself and pulled the boy’s label from his pocket, pleased that he’d thought to bring it with him. “Here’s his name here. Bit of a mouthful, but I figure that you’ll need it for a card, like?”

 

Miss Blake took the small label from him and couldn’t help the widening of her eyes at the mess of letters that apparently was the boy’s name. “Ah, thank you very much, Mr Hale.”

 

Derek nodded and she watched him leave the library.

 

“Now,” she said, turning to the boy and producing a pale blue card. “We just fill in your name here… Your address I know,” she beamed wickedly at him.

 

After, Derek stepped out of the bank and saw people still huddled in groups in the square, talking anxiously. He noticed some wirelesses in a shop window and paused in front of them. One in particular caught his eye; a small ten-by-four-inch wireless, run on batteries that had to be recharged. Ideal for someone like him who had no electricity. It was made of light wood with two large circular opening, one with a fretted front, the other fitted with a dial. Something to think about if he had to leave the boy on his own. Lot of money, though.

 

“I must remember to get some Number Eights,” he muttered to himself; torch batteries were being bought up at an alarming rate. “And some underwear for the boy.” He glanced down at Mrs Boyd’s crumpled list. “Wool,” he read.

 

He stopped at the corner of the small road near the corset shop and glanced down the tiny alleyway where the artist’s shop stood. He hadn’t time, he told himself before briskly walking towards the blacksmith’s, his rucksack and bags already bulging. He still had a box of groceries and some wooden and cardboard boxes to pick up that he thought would be useful for the boy’s room.

 

Within half an hor he was back at the library. He peered through the glass at the top of the door and spotted the boy kneeling on a chair, absorbed in books and with his elbows resting on a long wooden table. Miss Blake towered beside him, pointing at something on one of the pages. Derek hesitated for a moment before turning and walking hurriedly back towards the art shop.

 

“Two years,” he breathed, staring in it’s window. “Is that how long it’s been?”

 

He pushed the door ajar. It gave a loud tinkle. Even the same bell, he thought. He hesitated another moment and then stepped inside.

 

* * *

 

 

Mieczyslaw felt a hand touch his should and jumped before turning to see that it was Derek. He was carrying a parcel.

 

“Ready to go now,” he said softly.

 

Mieczyslaw had his finger on a large letter. “That’s an ‘O’, isn’t it, mister?” Derek bent down to look; the book was filled with pictures of a marmalade coloured cat. He nodded, “You know your alphabet then?”

 

“I nearly know it.” He glanced up at the man. “Mister Derek, will you help me?” he asked timidly then quickly looked down at the book, clenched his hands and held his breath in panic. Now he was in for it. Don’t ask for help from anyone, his mum had told him. He waited for the cuff around his ear.

 

“Yes,” said Derek, making his head shoot back up. “I expect that I can talk to Mrs Whittemore or whoever’s your teacher and ask what you need to practice.”

 

Miss Blake interrupted him. “Don’t you go working him too hard. He looks like he could do with some of our country air.”

 

Derek glared at her. “He’ll get plenty of that,” he snapped. “There’s veg to plant and Cora to look after, and weeding.”

 

Miss Blake said no more. Poor boy, she thought, taken away from his loving home and now dumped with an irritable cold man.

 

Derek picked up the boy’s three books and gave them to him to carry. The one Miss Blake had chosen was Rudyard Kipling’s _Just So Stories_.

 

“It’s not very educational, I’m afraid, Mr Hale.”

 

“Did I say I wanted something educational?”

 

“No, Mr Hale.”

 

“Then don’t put words in my mouth.”

 

“No, Mr Hale.” She held back a smile.

 

After they had left, she stood in the doorway for a moment, watching them walking down the main street past the square.

 

“What an odd couple,” she muttered to herself. “Just wait til I tell Julia!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Run!” Derek roared as he and the boy tore down the pathway to the cottage. The only just made it before the sky gave an almighty shake and split open. Rain and hail hit the tiled roof with such force that Derek and Mieczyslaw were nearly deafened and had to shout to make themselves heard. Dam growled and barked out of the front window.

 

Derek put the blacks up, lit the lamps and began unpacking the parcels.

 

“These are pyjamas,” he said, lifting up two blue-and-white striped garments. “You wear them in bed.” Mieczyslaw nodded in understanding. “Now, are you going to sleep in the bed tonight?”

 

The boy looked startled. “But bed’s are for dead people, aren’t they?”

 

Derek stood up. “Come with me.”

 

Mieczyslaw followed him across the passage to Derek’s bedroom. He hovered awkwardly in the hallway.

 

“Come in,” Derek said. “Don’t dally.” Mieczyslaw took a step into the room. “See this hear bed. I’ve slept _in_ it for five years now and I’m not dead yet, and that basket at the end is Sammy’s bed, when he’s in a mind.”

 

They returned to the front room and, after a light tea of eggs and toast, Mieczyslaw changed for bed and sat down by the armchair, next to Derek. The rain continued to pour outside, rattling the window viciously.

 

Mieczyslaw brushed a hand over his crisp new pyjamas. It had felt strange going to bed the night before without wearing his underpants, but this odd suit felt even stranger.

 

“Mr Derek,” he said. “Aren’t you going to read from the Bible?”

 

Derek frowned. “Didn’t you like it from my head then, last night?”

 

“Yeah, yeah I did.”

 

“I shouldn’t think that you’d understand all them long words, anyways.”

 

“No, Mister Derek,” said Mieczyslaw, deeply relieved at not having to pretend any more. “Can you tell me _Noah’s Ark_ again?”

 

Derek relayed the tale for the second time and then followed it up with the daring exploits of Pecos Bill from the comic the boy had chosen.

 

After a cup of cocoa, Mieczyslaw brushed his teeth over an aluminium bowl and then dashed out into the garden to the little wooden outhouse, wearing his mackintosh and a new pair of gumboots while Derek sheltered him with an umbrella.

 

Between the two of them, they carried the mattress upstairs and Derek placed a rubber sheet on it and then made the bed over it.

 

“There,” he said when they had finished. “Now you can wet the bed til Kingdom come.”

 

“Mister Derek,” whispered Mieczyslaw. “Aren’t you angry with me?”

 

Derek shook his head and grunted. “Of course not. When I first got Sammy, he peed all over the blimmin’ place. It takes time to settle into a new place and its ways.”

 

He turned the blankets down for Mieczyslaw to climb in between the sheets. Sammy jumped up and settled down on the bump where his feet were.

 

“I put your comic and library books on your table.”

 

“Thanks Mister Derek,” he whispered and bent down to pick up the book with the marmalade cat. Derek watched him tracing words with his fingers.

 

He cleared his throat. “Ten minutes.”

 

But Mieczyslaw didn’t hear him, lost in the coloured pictures. A loud knocking came from downstairs startling Sammy, who leapt off of the bed and began barking. Derek quickly checked that the blacks were properly placed before disappearing down the ladder, a squirming Sammy in his arms. Mieczyslaw raised his head for a moment to listen.

 

“Good evening, Mrs Boyd,” he heard Derek say. “Come in.”

 

He turned back to his book but, all too soon, Derek reappeared to blow the lamp out. The room was blanketed in darkness until the blacks were removed.

 

“Goodnight, boy,” Derek said, tousling his hair. “Pot’s by the bed if you need it.”

 

Mieczyslaw was thoroughly exhausted. His head spun with all the names and face of the people he’d met that day, let alone all the places. He was just thinking about the boy in the Post Office when he fell into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since I last updated but I'm afraid that RL has been more than a little awful the last couple of months with a whole lotta shit happening and I just couldn't write at all. 
> 
> But alas! Here we are finally! Hope you enjoyed it!


	5. 'Chamberlain Announces'

‘Good morning,” Derek said, appearing from the trap door.

Mieczyslaw opened his eyes at the sound and blearing looked around. The sun was beaming through the window, casting flickering lights across the wooden floor of the attic. ‘Morning,’ he replied.

‘So you actually slept in the bed last night,’ Derek noted, stepping fully into the room. ‘Good.’

The boy gave a tight smile which rapidly faded when he realised that the trousers of his new striped pyjamas were soaking wet. He paled. 

Derek strode across the room to the window, pushing it open. ‘Come and take a good breath of the day.’ Mieczyslaw blushed and clutched the top of his blankets tightly. ‘Never you mind about those pyjamas. I’ve got a tub of hot water waiting for them downstairs.’ 

Mieczyslaw slowly climbed out of the bed and joined him at the window, but the flush didn’t fade. 

Derek pointedly kept looking out the window as the boy joined him. ‘I reckon that that storm’s washed more than a few cobwebs away.’

The two rested their elbows on the sill and leaned out into the bright day. It was rather a tight squeeze, but they didn’t move. 

Beyond the little road at the end of the graveyard stretched green and yellow fields and on the horizon stood a clump of woods. Derek pointed to some trees to the right of it. 

‘The big Grange is over there.’ He squinted before shaking his head, ‘Nope, can’t see it. But when the leaves fall from the trees you’ll be able to just make it out. And over there,’ he pointed to the left of the fields where a small road wound up a hill, ‘is where one of your teachers lives. Mrs Whittemore’s her name.’

‘Mr Derek,’ Mieczyslaw asked, eyes darting from one view to the next, ‘how many teachers are there?’

‘Two. Mrs Whittemore teaches the young ones and Mr Yukimura the older ones.’

‘How old’s old?’

Derek didn’t chance a look at the suddenly inquisitive young boy and simply replied. ‘Eleven, twelve up to fourteen. Sometimes a clever one goes to the Grammar in town. See them woods,’ he pointed again. ‘There’s a small river that flows through there to where the Grange is. It’s pretty popular with the children round here.’

They stared out at the view in silence, each lost in their own thoughts until they were suddenly interrupted by a loud barking from the graveyard. Sammy was running up at down the pathway, yelping at them. 

‘Always wanting attention, him,’ Derek muttered, drawing himself away from the window. ‘We’ve got another busy day, boy. We’ve got to start digging a trench for the Anderson this afternoon. That’ll put some muscles on you.’

Together, they stripped the bed and carried the sheets downstairs. Derek gently washed Mieczyslaw’s body again and smoothed the witch-hazel over the sore spots. 

There was an assortment of clothes lying on the table that Mrs Boyd had brought round the night before. David, her youngest, had grown out of them and although he was younger than the boy, he was already a head taller. Derek handed him a white shirt from the pile and tied one of his own ties – a brown, tweedy affair – around his neck. Next to the rest of the ensemble, Mieczyslaw’s grey trousers appeared even more crumpled than before, but with the new braces attached to them they at least felt comfortable. He tucked the long tie into them. Derek passed him a pair of grey woollen socks and Mieczyslaw pulled the garters over them. 

To finish off the outfit, Mieczyslaw pulled on his new boots. ‘I put some oil on them last night,’ Derek said as the boy stood. ‘You’ll have to do them yourself tonight.’

Derek had to be in the church early, to see Mr Argent, the vicar. He walked on ahead while Mieczyslaw staggered after him, finding it difficult to walk in his new boots; the cut into his ankles and he couldn’t bend his feet to walk in them. The slight discomfort was overshadowed by the support and protection he felt wearing them. They clattered clearly on the flagstone pathway and the defined sounds pleased him. His bony legs, which usually felt as though they would suddenly collapse under him, felt firmer, stronger. 

He found the back door of the church already open and spotted Mister Derek talking to tall, strong looking man with dark blonde and greying hair. The two men seemed to be having a somewhat stilted conversation.

‘Ah, hello there, son,’ he called out, turning to him. ‘Mr Hale tells me that you’re going to give us a hand. Those are the hymn books,’ he continued, gesturing towards a pile of red books on a table by the main door. ‘Put four on each bench and if there are any left over, spread them across the rows of chairs at the front and back. Do you think you can do that?’ Mieczyslaw nodded nervously. ‘Good.’ He turned back to Derek, ‘Now, where’s the best place acoustically for this wireless of mine?’

Mieczyslaw walked over to the table and picked up some of the books the vicar had indicated, feeling utterly bewildered. Mum had said that red was an evil colour but the vicar had told him to put them out so it couldn’t really be a sin. He had also said that he was good. Mum had told him that whenever he was good she liked him but that when he was bad she didn’t. Neither did God or anyone else for that matter. It was very lonely being bad.

He touched the worn, shiny wood at the back of one of the pews. It smelled comfortable. He glanced at the main door; like the back door, it was flung wide open revealing a tiny arched porch outside. Sunlight streamed into the church and through the stained glass windows, and a pleasant smell of grass and flowers permeated the air. A bird chirruped outside. Perhaps Heaven is like this, Mieczyslaw thought to himself. 

He carefully laid each red book out neatly on the benches, his new boots echoing noisily in the church around him, but the vicar didn’t comment and carried on quite loudly for someone in a church. Mister Derek was nearly silent in comparison. 

He was arranging the books in the back row so that they were exactly parallel to each other, when two boys entered. They were both at least a few years older than himself. They sat on the second row of the choir benches to the left of the altar.

It suddenly occurred to Mieczyslaw that the church would soon be filled with people and he felt faint. He hated crowds and quickly began to dread the Sunday service and its aftermath, which was usually a good whipping. He felt a hand on his shoulder, dragging his thoughts away. It was Mister Derek.

‘Stay with me, boy,’ he murmured in a low voice and Mieczyslaw gratefully followed him into one of the pews.

Within minutes, the tiny church was flooded with men, women and children. Four more boys sat by the altar. On the right of the altar were three men. Mieczyslaw recognised Mr Reyes from the corner shop and the young man behind the counter in the Post Office. 

In the pew opposite Mieczyslaw were two girls trying to smother their giggles. One had long blonde hair that had been fought into plaits while the remainder stuck out in frizzy uncontrollable waves. She was also wearing a plain blue dress with some simple stitching across the chest. The other girl had perfectly smooth and shiny red hair that flowed over her shoulders that were covered with short puffed sleeves to match her own green summer dress. Like him, the two girls carried their own gas-masks over their shoulders. A lady with dark red hair at their side glares down at them. Mieczyslaw thought that she must be the mother of the pretty girl with red hair. 

Mr Argent and his wife stood by the main entrance greeting the congregation as they entered. Mrs Whittemore came in with her husband and greeted the vicar and his wife with a hug and kiss, calling them mother and father, before moving to sit in the pew in the front, beside their cook and an assortment of evacuees. 

A hacking cough from the porch heralded the arrival of Melissa Deaton and the Doctor. Mieczyslaw gave a short gasp – she was wearing trousers to church! He watched the vicar’s face, waiting for the thunderous ‘thou shalt be cast into the eternal fires’ glare, but he only smiled and shook her hand. He was surprised to see Miss Blake behind them.

‘Mister Derek,’ he whispered urgently, tugging at the mans sleeve. ‘Does that book lady live here?’

Derek nodded. 

A woman who was clearly her twin accompanied her. ‘That’s her sister Miss Julia,’ he said in a low voice. ‘They live in one of those cottages with the straw roofs – thatched that is. They’ve got a wireless.’

Mieczyslaw turned to find the Boyd’s with two of their sons moving into their pew. Mrs Boyd leaned towards them. 

‘Mr Hale,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve started the balaclava.’

Derek frowned her into silence. It was the boy’s birthday on Thursday and he wanted it to be a surprise. 

The wireless stood on a small table below the pulpit. Mr Argent fiddled with one of the knobs awkwardly and the church was suddenly deafened with ‘How to make the most of Tinned Foods’. The girls had caught the eye of one of the boys sitting in the front row of the choir. He was a stocky boy of about eleven with a shaved head. With heads bent and shaking shoulders, the three of them were stifling their laughter into the hands. 

‘That’s the Lahey’s,’ whispered Derek as a group of men and women came in. ‘They own Hillbrook Farm. Biggest round here for miles.’

Mr Lahey was a sour-faced, middle-aged man whose starched white collar seemed to be causing him an obstruction in breathing. A thin blonde boy trailed behind him beside a strapping lad in a uniform. His wife, a short and stocky woman was accompanying two evacuees, a boy and a girl. 

‘Trust old Lahey to pick a strong looking pair,’ muttered Derek to himself. 

Malia and her parents sat in front of Derek and Mieczyslaw. She turned and smiled at them, but Mieczyslaw was staring at the colours in the stained glass windows and didn’t notice her.  
When the congregation had reasonably settled, Mr Argent moved to stand in front of them and clasped his hands together. ‘Good morning,’ he began. ‘I understand that we have several new denominations gathered here with us today, especially amongst our new visitors who I hope will feel happy and safe within our homes. If any one of you is ever troubled or in need of help, please do not hesitate to come to me or my wife. 

‘Now, if you would all please open your hymn books to number eighty-five we shall sing together “Lead thou me on”.’

Mr Yukimura, the headmaster of the village school, was seated behind the pulpit at the organ. He gave an introductory cord and Mieczyslaw began to shake; he didn’t know the tune and couldn’t even follow the words as he couldn’t read. He glanced over at the girls. They were sharing a hymn book and singing along. He envied them.

‘Lah it,’ he head Derek whisper. ‘Go on, just lah it.’

Mieczyslaw did so and surprised himself by quickly picking up the melody until he almost began to enjoy himself. The hymn was followed by a passage from the New Testament, another hymn from the choir and some simple prayers. 

The vicar checked his watch and walked towards the wireless. All eyes were glued to him and anyone with seating space sat down silently. 

The wireless crackled in the echoing silence of the church for a few moments until, after much jiggling with the knobs by the vicar, the voice of Mr Chamberlain rang clearly. 

‘I am speaking to you,’ he said, ‘from the Cabinet Room at 10 Downing Street. This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final note stating that unless we heard from them by eleven o’clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us.

‘I have to tell you know that no such undertaking has been received and that consequently this country is at war with Germany.’

A few people gave a cry, some took out their handkerchiefs and the rest were simply frozen. A loud whisper was heard from one of the choir boys, ‘Does that mean no more school?’ but he was quickly silenced by a quick frown from Mr Yukimura and Mr Chamberlain’s message was allowed to continue undisturbed. 

‘I know that you will all play your part with calmness and courage,’ he said. ‘… Report for duty in accordance with the instructions you have received… It is of vital importance that you should carry on with your jobs. Now may God bless you all. May He defend the right. It is the evil things that we shall be fighting against – brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression and persecution – and against them I am certain that the right will prevail.’

Mr Argent turned the wireless off. After what seemed like an interminable silence he spoke, ‘Let us pray.’

Everyone sank to their knees. Mieczyslaw peeked in the direction of the choir over his clasped hands. The choir boy had caught the eyes of the girls again and seemed to be trying desperately to relay some sort of message to them. 

After prayers, various announcements were made from the pulpit; volunteers and those already involved with the A.R.P. or Civil Defence work were asked to meet at the village hall and women and children were to report to the school in the morning to make arrangements for the care and education of the evacuees. 

After the service, everyone filed outside and Mieczyslaw looked around the congregation curiously, looking for the boy he’d seen at the Post Office. There was no sign of him anywhere, but he did spot the choirboy in deep discussion with the girls. He was joined by several other children, but no Post Office boy. He was distracted by a tugging on his sleeve; it was Malia. She gazed shyly at him.

‘Hello,’ she said. 

Mieczyslaw shuffled in his boot and awkwardly dug a toe into the ground.

‘Hello,’ he replied. 

An uncomfortable silence fell between them and he was more than grateful when Mister Derek called out to him from beside the vicar, asking him to put the kettle on. Mieczyslaw quickly turned and stumbled down the path, leaving Malia to stare after him as he disappeared into the cottage. 

Inside, he waited anxiously for Mister Derek’s return. The lid of the kettle rattled constantly, enveloping the living room in clouds of dense steam. He had tried vainly to life the kettle from the range but had only succeeded in burning his hand. When the man finally returned, he didn’t bat an eye at the warm fog, simply striding into the room and picking up the kettle with an old cloth and proceeding to make a pot of tea. 

It wasn’t until he had put three mugs on the table that Mieczyslaw realized that there was a third person in the room. A short and stocky middle-aged man with thinning dark hair and a twinkle in his eye was standing in the doorway eyeing him. He blushed. 

‘Come on in, Mr Boyd,’ Derek grunted. He and Mr Boyd sat at the table while Mieczyslaw took one of the mugs and perched himself on the stool in front of the range. He felt very self-conscious and was trying desperately not to give into his curiosity and listen in on the conversation about widths of trenches. He couldn’t help it thought when at one point he knew for sure that they were talking about him.

‘Oh yes, he’ll manage all right,’ he heard Derek say. ‘Have to much in like the rest of us.’ He glanced in the boys direction. ‘You’ll have to get your hands dirty today, boy. You don’t mind a bit of muck and earth, I don’t suppose?’

‘No, Mister Derek,’ he replied with wide eyes. 

This was an entirely different world altogether. For a start, his mother had taught him that it was a sin to work or play on the Sabbath; Sunday’s were for sitting silently with a bible in front of you. Let alone that if he’d ever get a but of dirt on his clothes he’d get a beating. His classmates had always called him a sissie because he’d never dared risk dirtying himself by climbing a wall or joining in their rough-and-tumble games. And, in addition to having to keep his clothes clean, his body was usually too bruised and sore to play. Not that he knew how to. 

He was so long in his thoughts that he barely noticed Mr Boyd leaving. ‘Mister Derek,’ he asked eventually. ‘What about my clothes getting dirty?’

‘You can take your shirt off. It’s a good hot day.’ Mieczyslaw shuffled nervously on the stool and Derek sighed. ‘What’s up now? Them bruises, is it?’ The boy nodded. ‘Wear your grey jersey then. Mind, you’ll be dripping sweat. And put your old socks on.’

After a hearty meal of meat and potato stew of which Mieczyslaw could only manage a few mouthfuls, Mr Boyd returned with his two teenaged sons. They were carrying spades and measuring sticks. 

Derek brought them outside and pointed sadly towards a patch of grass in the back garden. ‘Best to start there,’ he said. ‘It’s a decent distance from the latrine.’

Together they stripped the turf away in small neat squares and then, after measuring the ground, they slowly and laboriously began to dig. Mieczyslaw was given a small spade and eventually became so absorbed in his digging that he began to forget that we was surrounded by strangers. Mister Derek had told him not to be afraid of the earth, but it was still wet from the previous night’s rain and he couldn’t help the occasional squeal when his spade met a worm. 

This made the others laugh and yell ‘townee’ which made him shake nervously until they carried on digging and he realized that there was no malice in their laughter. 

At some point during the digging, they all sat down for a mug of tea. Mieczyslaw quickly offered to hand around the mugs and felt a proud warmth and Mister Derek’s smile. The two youths were called Michael and Edward. Michael was the elder and was dark-haired with a few strands of hair on his upper lip. Edward, the younger, was stockier and had dark hair and a voice that was in the process of breaking. 

Mieczyslaw sat on the edge of the shallow trench and clung tightly to his mug, calmer than before but still quite tense. His hands smarted under the heat of the mug. He startled suddenly at the sounds of footsteps and a boy’s voice approaching the hedge. He turned sharply to look, wondering if it was the Post Office boy. 

A young boy and girl leaned over the small gate; they were Michael and Edward’s younger brother and sister. The boy was the choirboy he’d noticed in the church. Derek gave his usually frown at the uninvited intrusion. 

‘May I have your worms, Mr Hale?’ the choirboy asked politely.

Derek grunted and the little girl fled immediately. ‘Dare say you can, Vernon. Come on in.’ Mieczyslaw noticed the faintest wince from the choirboy at the name.

‘Thanks, Mr Hale,’ he said enthusiastically all the same and he swung the gate open. 

In his hands was a large tin. He walked straight over to the trench and began scrutinizing the piles of dirt. Mieczyslaw watched in horror as he began to pick up the wiggling worms and put them inside the tin. Within minutes he was helping with the digging. He turned shortly to find Mieczyslaw staring at him. ‘You’re one of those townees, aren’t you?’ he asked and Mieczyslaw nodded faintly. ‘Aren’t you hot in that jersey?’

Vernon had stripped off his own shirt as soon as he’d joined them. Mieczyslaw shook his head in denial, but the beads of sweat that rolled down his flushed face betrayed him. His jersey was clinging to his chest in ever-spreading damp patches. 

‘You look hot, why don’t you peel off?’

Mieczyslaw’s heart was beating in his throat and his stomach tightened and twisted as he mumbled out something that Vernon couldn’t hear. 

‘What?’ he asked, puzzled. ‘What did you say?’

‘Boy’s got a temperature,’ Derek interrupted curtly. ‘Best to sweat it off.’

Mieczyslaw didn’t look towards Vernon anymore after that and instead threw himself into digging with extra fervour. Later in the afternoon, Mrs Boyd appeared with lemonade and cakes for everyone and Vernon left soon after with a bulging tin of worms. 

Sammy watched them digging from a corner of the garden, clearly miserable at being left out. He had tried to help earlier but had only been yelled at angrily for filling the hole with earth. 

When the trench was finally completed, Mieczyslaw sat on the grass with Sammy by his feet to watch the others fix the Anderson shelter inside of it. The six steel sheets were inserted into the two widest sides of the trench and bolted together at the top to form a curved tunnel. Michael and Edward placed one of the flat pieces of steel at one end and Derek and Mr Boyd fixed it into place. This was the back of the shelter. It had an emergency exit which they all had a go at unbolting. 

Mieczyslaw was so absorbed in the process that he didn’t notice that his knees were being licked and he unconsciously rested his hand on the back of Sammy’s neck. 

Derek and Mr Boyd fixed the next flat piece onto the front of the shelter with a hole cut into it at ground level to act as a doorway. ‘Boy,’ Derek called, turning and surprised to see him sitting with Sammy so relaxed, ‘would you like to have a try out of this doorway?’

Mieczyslaw stood and wandered over towards the entrance. He put his head through the hole cautiously and gingerly stepped inside. It was dark and smelt of damp earth. Derek joined him; the shelter curved well above his head so that they could both stand comfortably inside. Derek crawled back outside and pulled the boy through after him. He thanked Mr Boyd and his sons for their help and shook their hands. 

‘Pleasure,’ said Mr Boyd. ‘We must all help one another now.’

‘Well, boy,’ said Derek after the Boyd’s had left. ‘I’m afraid that we’re not quite finished just yet. We’ve got to cover this with earth. You got any strength left?’

Mieczyslaw felt utterly exhausted but he was determined to keep going. He nodded vigorously and Derek gave a small smile. And so, between them, they started to cover the shelter until the time came for Derek to head for a meeting in the village hall. 

‘Don’t carry on for too long,’ Derek warned as he swung the back gate behind him, but Mieczyslaw continued to pile the earth on, levelling it down with his hands. It was exciting to see the glinting steel slowly disappear under its damp camouflage. The repetitive task quieted his mind and he was so absorbed that he didn’t notice dusk approaching. His hands and fingernails were filthy, his face and legs were covered in muck, his clothes were sodden and he was glorying in the wetness of it all. 

He was in the middle of smoothing one piece of earth when a shadow fell across his hands. He looked up quickly and there, half-silhouetted in the twilight, stood the wiry, tanned boy he had seen in the Post Office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely and supportive comments! 
> 
> Life is still all over the place and I've gotten a new job recently so that's something else, but your comments made it all a little easier.
> 
> So yeah, now two lovely ladies and a particular Boyd have caught the sight of our darling Stiles, who has already made Derek smile a few times this chapter alone (not that Derek noticed). And of course, Post Office boy has reappeared at last!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed and sorry for the long wait between chapters! 
> 
> Thank you all again! xx


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